She had heard of girls and women who were
like that, but she had never thought it possible that she----!
She had, of course, been looked at when she was very little, but
she had heard Andrews say that people looked because she had so
much hair and it was like curled silk.
She went to the dressing table and looked at herself in the glass,
leaning forward that she might see herself closely. The face
which drew nearer and nearer had the effect of some tropic flower,
because it was so alive with colour which seemed to palpitate
instead of standing still. Her soft mouth was warm and brilliant
with it, and the darkness of her eyes was--as it had always
been--like dew. Her brow were a slender black velvet line, and her
lashes made a thick, softening shadow. She saw they were becoming.
She cupped her round chin in her hands and studied herself with a
desire to be sure of the truth without prejudice or self conceit.
The whole effect of her was glowing, and she felt the glow as
others did. She put up a finger to touch the velvet petal texture
of her skin, and she saw how prettily pointed and slim her hand
was. Yes, that was pretty--and her hair--the way it grew about
her forehead and ears and the back of her neck. She gazed at her
young curve and colour and flame of life's first beauty with deep
curiosity, singularly impersonal for her years.
She liked it; she began to be grateful as Mademoiselle had said
she and Dowie were.
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