"You an old maid!" he had replied. "A piquant notion suggested by lips of that tint and form. I can fancy you, though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, but still with that straight nose, white forehead, and those soft eyes. I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, which has another 'timbre' than that hard, deep organ of Miss Mann's. Courage, Cary! Even at fifty you will not be repulsive."
"Miss Mann did not make herself, or tune her voice, Robert."
"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes her briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women she reserves the May morning hours, when with light and dew she wooes the primrose from the turf and the lily from the wood-moss."
* * * * *

"You an old maid!" he had replied. "A strange idea coming from those lips. I can imagine you, though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, but still with those soft eyes. I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, unlike that hard, deep voice of Miss Mann's. Courage, Cary! Even at fifty you will not be repulsive."
"Miss Mann did not make herself, or her voice, Robert."
"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women she reserves the May morning hours, when she makes the primrose and the lily."
