Now, a new dress--and especially
one as nice as this--was a rarity with Lucinda, who belonged
to a branch of the Penhallows noted for being chronically hard up.
Indeed, Lucinda and her widowed mother were positively poor,
and hence a new dress was an event in Lucinda's existence.
An uncle had given her this one--a beautiful, perishable thing,
such as Lucinda would never have dared to choose for herself,
but in which she revelled with feminine delight.
It was of pale green voile--a colour which brought out admirably
the ruddy gloss of her hair and the clear brilliance of her skin.
When she had finished dressing she looked at herself in the mirror
with frank delight. Lucinda was not vain, but she was quite well aware
of the fact of her beauty and took an impersonal pleasure in it,
as if she were looking at some finely painted picture by a master hand.
The form and face reflected in the glass satisfied her.
The puffs and draperies of the green voile displayed to perfection
the full, but not over-full, curves of her fine figure.
Lucinda lifted her arm and touched a red rose to her lips with
the hand upon which shone the frosty glitter of Romney's diamond,
looking at the graceful slope of her shoulder and the splendid
line of chin and throat with critical approval.
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