The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. “I saw his face in a mirror. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. The Ragged Edge. The villagers were thronging to church.
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