Or, rather, it went when she noticed the look in Edward's eyes as
he gazed back into Florence's. She knew that look.
She had known--since the first moment of their meeting, since the
moment of our all sitting down to dinner together--that Florence
was making eyes at Edward. But she had seen so many women
make eyes at Edward--hundreds and hundreds of women, in
railway trains, in hotels, aboard liners, at street corners. And she
had arrived at thinking that Edward took little stock in women
that made eyes at him. She had formed what was, at that time, a
fairly correct estimate of the methods of, the reasons for, Edward's
loves. She was certain that hitherto they had consisted of the short
passion for the Dolciquita, the real sort of love for Mrs Basil, and
what she deemed the pretty courtship of Maisie Maidan. Besides
she despised Florence so haughtily that she could not imagine
Edward's being attracted by her. And she and Maisie were a sort
of bulwark round him. She wanted, besides, to keep her eyes on
Florence--for Florence knew that she had boxed Maisie's ears.
And Leonora desperately desired that her union with Edward
should appear to be flawless.
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