CHAPTER XI

After that, she went to her room and sat down before her three-leaved mirror.  There was where she nearly always sat when she came into her room, if she had nothing in mind to do.  She went to that chair as naturally as a dog goes to his corner.

She leaned forward, observing her profile; gravity seemed to be her mood.  But after a long, almost motionless scrutiny, she began to produce dramatic sketches upon that ever-ready stage, her countenance: she showed gaiety, satire, doubt, gentleness, appreciation of a companion and love-in-hiding-- all studied in profile first, then repeated for a"three- quarter view." Subsequently she ran through them, facing herself in full.

In this manner she outlined a playful scenario for her next interview with Arthur Russell; but grew solemn again, thinking of the impression she had already sought to give him.  She had no twinges for any underminings of her"most intimate friend"--in fact, she felt that her work on a new portrait of Mildred for Mr.

Russell had been honest and accurate.  But why had it been her instinct to show him an Alice Adams who didn't exist?

Almost everything she