She
held her arms down and then held them up, and was surveyed from every
point of the compass.
"I thought it was a pucker, but it's only the shadow," observed Mrs.
Harrop.
Mrs. Cobb stroked the body and shook the skirt. Not a single
depreciatory criticism was ventured. Excepting the wearer, nobody
present had seen such a masterpiece. But although for half a lifetime
we may have beheld nothing better than an imperfect actual, we recognise
instantly the superiority and glory of the realised Ideal when it is
presented to us. Mrs. Harrop, Mrs. Cobb, Mrs. Sweeting, and Miss
Tarrant became suddenly aware of possibilities of which they had not
hitherto dreamed. Mrs. Swanley, the linendraper's wife, was degraded
and deposed.
"She must have learned that in London," said Mrs. Harrop.
"London! my dear Mrs. Harrop," replied Mrs. Bingham, "I know London
pretty well, and how things are cut there. I told you there was a
French book on the table. Take my word for it, she has lived in Paris.
She MUST have lived there."
"Where is Great Ormond Street, Mrs.
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