9/21 He had selected a disguise, and, as she wished, a becoming one. He had thrown it over her face like a veil, if anything could be a veil which rather revealed than hid, rather emphasized than softened, the human secret of the face underneath. He realized now that he had been guided by a broader perception, by deeper instincts, in painting that. It was the real Elfrida. He wondered vaguely how she would take it, and he was conscious of an anxiety to get it over. |