Close to the General, he waited courteously for a long sentence of Mrs.
Thoresby's to be ended, and then said, simply, "Uncle James, this is my
friend Miss Leslie Goldthwaite. My brother, Dr. Ingleside--why, where is
Noll?"
Dr. Oliver Ingleside had stepped out of the circle in the last half of
the long sentence. The Sister of Mercy--no longer in costume,
however--had come down the little flight of steps that led from the
stage to the floor. At their foot the young army surgeon was shaking
hands with Susan Josselyn. These two had had the chess-practice
together--and other practice--down there among the Southern hospitals.
Mrs. Thoresby's face was very like some fabric subjected to chemical
experiment, from which one color and aspect has been suddenly and
utterly discharged to make room for something different and new. Between
the first and last there waits a blank. With this blank full upon her,
she stood there for one brief, unprecedented instant in her life, a
figure without presence or effect. I have seen a daguerreotype in which
were cap, hair, and collar, quite correct,--what should have been a face
rubbed out.
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