BLANCHE
ish about her now—if a man could believe his sight. Her large blue eyes and the curl of her mouth were enough like a child's, but it is not in such things that a woman's maturity speaks, Carron knew, but in the proud carriage of shoulders, the level turn of head, the steady way of meeting a man's eye, and their way of meeting what he says, not as if he were an antagonist, but as if he were a human being.
Thus Blanche Rader began setting herself very prettily to find out what sort of talk he preferred; and he allowed himself the luxury of being drawn out, and being "difficult" merely for the pleasure of watching her graceful faculty at work. She had undertaken the task not impersonally—he doubted that she was capable of being quite impersonal with any one—yet rather with the air of its being the thing expected of her, the thing she always did, pleasant enough in this case, in any case her part of the business.
But Mrs. Rader, who should have found herself relieved by her daughter's aptitude, showed restlessness. Her hands moved without intention among the coffee cups. Once or twice her lips parted. She made false starts to get into the conversation. Finally, a pause giving opportunity, she leaned forward and got her daughter's eye.
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