Mrs.Lascelles, on the other hand, struck me primarily in the light of some splendid and spirited animal.

I still liked to dwell upon her dancing.

She satisfied the mere eye more and more.

But I had no reason to suppose that she knew right from wrong in art or literature, any more than she would seem to have distinguished between them in life itself.

Her Tauchnitz novel lay beside her on the grass and I again reflected that it would not have found a place on Catherine's loftiest shelf.