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Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

her courage and fundamental honesty--these things are not spoiled. 

 

There are long periods when she cordially loathes her whole family. 

She is quite unprincipled; her philosophy is carpe diem for herself 

and laissez faire for others. She loves shocking stories: she has that 

coarse streak that usually goes with natures that are both fine and big. 

She wants people to like her, but if they do not it never worries her or 

changes her. She is by no means a model character. 

 

The education of all beautiful women is the knowledge of men. ROSALIND 

had been disappointed in man after man as individuals, but she had great 

faith in man as a sex. Women she detested. They represented qualities 

that she felt and despised in herself--incipient meanness, conceit, 

cowardice, and petty dishonesty. She once told a roomful of her 

mother's friends that the only excuse for women was the necessity for 

a disturbing element among men. She danced exceptionally well, drew 

cleverly but hastily, and had a startling facility with words, which she 

used only in love-letters. 

 

But all criticism of ROSALIND ends in her beauty. There was that shade 

of glorious yellow hair, the desire to imitate which supports the dye 

industry. There was the eternal kissable mouth, small, slightly sensual, 

and utterly disturbing. There were gray eyes and an unimpeachable skin 

with two spots of vanishing color. She was slender and athletic, without 

underdevelopment, and it was a delight to watch her move about a room, 

walk along a street, swing a golf club, or turn a "cartwheel." 

 

A last qualification--her vivid, instant personality escaped that 

conscious, theatrical quality that AMORY had found in ISABELLE. 

MONSIGNOR DARCY would have been quite up a tree whether to call her 

a personality or a personage. She was perhaps the delicious, 

inexpressible, once-in-a-century blend. 

 

On the night of her debut she is, for all her strange, stray wisdom, 

quite like a happy little girl. Her mother's maid has just done her 

hair, but she has decided impatiently that she can do a better job 


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