It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. ” She eyed him scornfully. “I’m not that beautiful.
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