"A month ago the colours were wonderful." In the drive, which they could see from a corner view, a few old men, forgotten by time, warmed themselves in the sunlight.

Far below, the river reflected the changeable blue of the sky, while the autumnal pageantry on the horizon was fading slowly, like a burned-out fire, to the colour of ashes.
"Mother, dear, I'm so glad," said a gay voice in the doorway, and turning quickly, Gabriella stared with wide eyes at the vision of Patty--of Patty in some soft tea-gown, which borrowed its tone from the old tapestries on the wall, with her honey-coloured hair hanging over her shoulders, and her eyes as fresh as blue flowers in the ivory pallor of her face.
"And this is Gabriella," she added, holding out her arms.

"What a darling you are to come so soon, Gabriella." She was a tall girl, so tall that she stooped to kiss Gabriella, whose height measured exactly five feet and seven inches, and she was beautiful with the faultless beauty which is seen only once or twice in a generation, but which, seen once, is never forgotten.

For Patty's beauty, as a poet once wrote of a dead woman, was the beauty of destiny, the beauty that changes history and turns men into angels or into beasts.

Though Gabriella had seen lovely skins on Southern women--rose-leaf skins, magnolia skins, peach-blossom skins--she had seen nothing that resembled the exquisite colour and texture of Patty's face.
"The curtains were finished, so I brought them," said Mrs.Fowler, pointing to the bundle.