Booth Tarkington

“ People speaking casually of Lucy were apt to define her as “a little beauty,” a definition short of the mark. She was “a little beauty,” but an independent, masterful, sell-reliant little American, of whom her father’s earlier gipsyings and her own sturdiness had made a woman ever since she was fifteen. But though she was the mistress of her own ways and no slave to any lamp save that of her own conscience, she had a weakness: she had fallen in love with George Amberson Minafer at first sight, and no matter how she disciplined herself, she had never been able to climb out. ”

“ George had looked just the way she had always wanted someone to look—the riskiest of all the moonshine ambushes wherein tricky romance snares credulous young love. But what was fatal to Lucy was that this thing having happened to her, she could not change it. No matter what she discovered in George’s nature she was unable to take away what she had given him ”

“ I do hope you’ll have the most splendid trip.” She gave his hand a cordial little grip, then released it lightly. “Give my love to your mother. Good-bye!”
He turned heavily away, and a moment later glanced back over his shoulder. She had not gone on, but stood watching him, that same casual, cordial smile on her face to the very last; and now, as he looked back, she emphasized her friendly unconcern by waving her small hand to him cheerily, though perhaps with the slightest hint of preoccupation, as if she had begun to think of the errand that brought her downtown. ”