There was one man, however, whom she greatly disliked, as young
girls will occasionally dislike a member of the opposite sex for
no special reason they can wholly explain to themselves.
He was an occasional visitor of her mother's--a personable young
Prussian officer of high rank and title. He was blonde and military
and good-looking; he brought his bearing and manner from the Court
at Berlin, and the click of his heels as he brought them smartly
together, when he made his perfect automatic bow, was one of the
things Robin knew she was reasonless in feeling she detested in
him.
"It makes me feel as if he was not merely bowing as a a man who
is a gentleman does," she confided to Mademoiselle Valle, "but
as if he had been taught to do it and to call attention to it as
if no one had ever known how to do it properly before. It is so
flourishing in its stiff way that it's rather vulgar."
"That is only personal fancy on your part," commented Mademoiselle.
"I know it is," admitted Robin. "But--" uneasily, "--but that
isn't what I dislike in him most. It's his eyes, I suppose they
are handsome eyes. They are blue and full--rather too full. They
have a queer, swift stare--as if they plunged into other people's
eyes and tried to hold them and say something secret, all in one
second. You find yourself getting red and trying to look away."
"I don't," said Mademoiselle astutely--because she wanted to hear
the rest, without asking too many questions.
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