“Well, what I am supposed to do, wear black?” Estelle retorted, though she eyed her reflection in Angeline’s mirror and wished she looked a little less like the imprint of a departed soul. Another year, she might have preferred a black dress, debutante or not – but this season had been a season of change, all pastels and placidness, and so far it was serving her – well, she would not say terribly.
Besides, her own future looked bright next to Angeline’s, rapidly-aging-Angeline who had been something of a ghost in society’s vision, she fancied. Drifting listlessly through life. It was no wonder she had gotten nowhere; Estelle did not even believe she had been trying.
“Perhaps you should, though,” she said dryly. “Embrace your spinsterhood.”
Besides, her own future looked bright next to Angeline’s, rapidly-aging-Angeline who had been something of a ghost in society’s vision, she fancied. Drifting listlessly through life. It was no wonder she had gotten nowhere; Estelle did not even believe she had been trying.
“Perhaps you should, though,” she said dryly. “Embrace your spinsterhood.”
