In appearance she was certainly somewhat striking, but her hair was
flagrantly dyed, her eyebrows darkened, her costume daring, her type
obvious.
"A very fine woman indeed, I call her," Mr. Waddington repeated.
"Shouldn't mind taking her to lunch. Good mind to ask her."
Burton hesitated for a moment. Then a curious change came into his own
face.
"She is rather fetching," he admitted.
The woman suddenly smiled. Mr. Waddington pulled himself together.
"It serves us right," he said, a little severely, and hastening his
companion on. "I was looking at her only as a curiosity."
Burton glanced behind and move on reluctantly.
"I call her jolly good-looking," he declared.
Mr. Waddington pretended not to hear. They turned into Jermyn Street.
"There are some vases here, at this small shop round the corner, which I
want you particularly to notice, Burton," he continued. "They are
perfect models of old Etruscan ware. Did you ever see a more beautiful
curve? Isn't it a dream? One could look at a curve like that and it
has something the same effect upon one as a line of poetry or a single
exquisite thought."
Burton glanced into the window and looked back again over his shoulder.
The lady, however, had disappeared.
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