Carolyn Wells,
More Lives Than One — I.
(1923)
“ Rosamond Sayre looked at herself in a mirror. “He’d be blind if he didn’t see reason to be proud of me,” she said, airily, flicking her cigarette ashes on the rug. She gave an impression of absolute self-satisfaction. Her beryl eyes flashed with vanity, her great masses of gold-brown hair clustered over her ears and framed a piquant, bewitching face. Her dashing little figure and vivacious gestures betokened self-reliance, as well as self approval. “Come on, now, Maddy—out with it,” she said; “I must run, in ten minutes, at most. Going to scold me, kid me—or borrow money of me?” ”
