'' As he observed Mildred,
he was still sighing and shaking his head over the
departed candidate.
``Ugly and ignorant!'' he groaned. ``Poor
creature! Poor, poor creature. She makes three dollars a
week--in a factory owned by a great philanthropist.
Three dollars a week. And she has no way to make a
cent more. Miss Gower, they talk about the sad,
naughty girls who sell themselves in the street to piece
out their wages. But think, dear young lady, how
infinitely better of they are than the ugly ones who can't
piece out their wages.''
There he looked directly at her for the first time.
Before she could grasp the tragic sadness of his idea,
he, with the mobility of candid and highly sensitized
natures, shifted from melancholy to gay, for in looking
at her he had caught only the charm of dress, of face,
of arrangement of hair. ``What a pleasure!'' he
exclaimed, bursting into smiles and seizing and kissing her
gloved hands. ``Voice like a bird, face like an angel
--only not TOO good, no, not TOO good.
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