"
"I'm twenty years old," she informed him.
"Stand right where you are until I have looked at you," he commanded,
and backed off a few feet, the better to contemplate her.
He saw a girl slightly above medium height, tanned, robust, simply
gowned in a gingham dress. Her hands were soiled from her recent
labours in the pansy-bed, and her shoes were heavy and coarse; yet
neither hands nor feet were large or ungraceful. Her head was well
formed; her hair, jet black and of unusual lustre and abundance, was
parted in the middle and held in an old-fashioned coil at the nape of
a neck the beauty of which was revealed by the low cut of her simple
frock. Moira was a decided brunette, with that wonderful quality of
skin to be seen only among brunettes who have roses in their cheeks;
her brow was broad and spiritual; in her eyes, large, black, and
listrous, there was a brooding tenderness not untouched with sorrow--
some such expression, indeed, as da Vinci put in the eyes of his Mona
Lisa. Her nose was patrician, her face oval; her lips, full and red,
were slightly parted in the adorable Cupid's bow which is the
inevitable heritage of a short upper lip; her teeth were white as
Parian marble; and her full breast was rising and falling swiftly, as
if she laboured under suppressed excitement.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166