en, as Virginia's hands fumbled a little at an obstinate hook, Lucy
gave an impatient pull of her shoulders, and reached back, straining her
arms, until she tore the offending fastenings from her dress. She was a
small, graceful girl, not particularly pretty, not particularly clever,
but possessing some indefinable quality which served her as
successfully as either beauty or cleverness could have done. Though she
was the most selfish and the least considerate of the three children,
Virginia was like wax in her hands, and regarded her dashing, rather
cynical, worldliness with naive and uncomprehending respect. She
secretly disapproved of Lucy, but it was a disapproval which was
tempered by admiration. It seemed miraculous to her that any girl of
twenty-two should possess so clearly formulated and critical a
philosophy of life, or should be so utterly emancipated from the last
shackles of reverence. As far as her mother could discern, Lucy
respected but a single thing, and that single thing was her own opinion.
For authority she had as little reverence as a savage; yet she was not a
savage, for she represented instead the perfect product of
over-civilization. The world was bounded for her by her own personality.
She was supremely interested in what she thought, felt, or imagined, and
beyond the limits of her individuality, she was frankly bored by
existence. The joys, sorrows, or experiences of others failed even to
arrest her attention. Yet the very simplicity and sincerity of her
egoism robbed it of offensiveness, and raised it from a trait of
character to the dignity of a point of view. The established law of
self-sacrifice which had guided her mother's life was not only
personally distasteful to her--it was morally indefensible. She was
engaged not in illustrating precepts of conduct, but in realizing her
independence; and this realization of herself appeared to her as the
supreme and peculiar obligation of her being. Though she was less fine
than Jenny, who in her studious way was a girl of much character, she
was by no means as superficial as she appeared, and might in time,
aided by fortuitous circumstances, make a strong and capable woman. Her
faults, after all, were due in a large measure to a training which had
consistently magnified in her mind the space which she would ultimately
occupy in the universe.

And she had charm. Without beauty, without intellect, without culture,
she was still able to dominate her s