This attribute was common to most of Lily's set: they had a force of negation which eliminated everything beyond their own range of perception.

Gryce and Miss Van Osburgh were, in short, made for each other by every law of moral and physical correspondence----"Yet they wouldn't look at each other," Lily mused, "they never do.

Each of them wants a creature of a different race, of Jack's race and mine, with all sorts of intuitions, sensations and perceptions that they don't even guess the existence of.

And they always get what they want." She stood talking with her cousin and Miss Van Osburgh, till a slight cloud on the latter's brow advised her that even cousinly amenities were subject to suspicion, and Miss Bart, mindful of the necessity of not exciting enmities at this crucial point of her career, dropped aside while the happy couple proceeded toward the tea-table.
Seating herself on the upper step of the terrace, Lily leaned her head against the honeysuckles wreathing the balustrade.

The fragrance of the late blossoms seemed an emanation of the tranquil scene, a landscape tutored to the last degree of rural elegance.