When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. I would have heard her. A spacious suite of rooms down the hall John described as “my parents love den” with a grimace as Lucy smiled. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. “Nothing.
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