Her contours were
effulgent--there was no other word. Beautiful she was not, for she had
a turned-up nose; but what charm she radiated! Every movement and tone
enchanted Edward Henry. He was enchanted not at intervals, by a chance
gesture, but all the time--when she was serious, when she smiled,
when she fingered her tea-cup, when she pushed her furs back over her
shoulders, when she spoke of the weather, when she spoke of the
social crisis, and when she made fun, with a certain brief absence of
restraint--rather in her artichoke manner of making fun.
He thought and believed:
"This is the finest woman I ever saw!" He clearly perceived the
inferiority of other women, whom, nevertheless, he admired and liked,
such as the Countess of Chell and Lady Woldo.
It was not her brains, nor her beauty, nor her stylishness that
affected him. No! It was something mysterious and dizzying that
resided in every particle of her individuality.
He thought:
"I've often and often wanted to see her again. And now I'm having tea
with her!" And he was happy.
"Have you got that list, Mr. Harrier?" she asked, in her low and
thrilling voice. So saying, she raised her eyebrows in expectation--a
delicious effect, especially behind her half-raised white veil.
Mr. Marrier produced a document.
"But that's _my_ list!" said Edward Henry.
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