Now that Eleanor had made her admit it, Eden allowed herself to dwell a bit on the fact that Sophia was pretty, even though her clothes were quite simple by comparison to the other girls. Most often, she wore a brown tweed skirt, a tailored shirtwaist and a modest straw hat. She seemed to own little jewelry—just a small gold brooch and a ring engraved with her initials. She wore her hair in a low chignon at lectures, though for the evening of the Chopin, she had piled it high on her head and crowned it with a sleek feathered hat.
Gertrude had called Sophia plain, but she could not see what Eden did. Sophia might be hiding her beauty behind her simple fashions, but Eden had found it out. Now the more she thought about it, the more obvious it became that for all her expensive clothes, Gertrude Prescott was not half as lovely as the girl she had so often snubbed. It was so obvious in fact, that Eden was almost shocked she had not seen it a year ago.
Not that it made any difference to Eden, of course, and naturally, a girl of Miss Abington’s abilities would want to be known for her work, not her appearance. And yet the image was stuck in Eden’s mind now: Sophia Abington walking through the night in a grey silk dress that matched her eyes, her head thrown back to count the Boston stars.