It occurred to Courtland to wonder what would happen if he should
suddenly ask Mr. Dare what he thought of Christ, or if he believed in
the resurrection. He could quite imagine they would look aghast as if he
had spoken of something impolite. One couldn't think of Mrs. Dare in a
resurrection, she would seem so out of place, so sort of unclothed for
the occasion, in those fat, doughy arms with her glittering jet
shoulder-straps. He realized that all these thoughts that raced through
his head were but fantasies occasioned no doubt by his own highly
wrought nervous condition, but they kept crowding in and bringing the
mirth to his eyes. How, for instance, would Mother Marshall and Mother
Dare hit it off if they should happen together in the same heaven?
Gila was all in white, from the tip of her pearly shoulders down to the
tip of her pearl-beaded slippers--white and demure. Her skin looked even
more pearly than when she wore the brilliant red-velvet gown. It had a
pure, dazzling whiteness, different from most skins. It perplexed him.
It did not look like flesh, but more like some ethereal substance meant
for angels. He drew a breath of satisfaction that there was not even a
flush upon it to-night. No painting there at least! He was not master of
the rare arts that skins are subject to in these days. He knew
artificial whiteness only when it was glaring and floury. This pearly
paleness was exquisite, delicious; and in contrast the great dark eyes,
lifted pansy-like for an instant and then down-drooped beneath those
wonderful, long curling lashes, were almost startling in their beauty.
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