"I call it
an uncomfortable sort of beauty for a drawing-room. She always looks as
if she might produce a dagger at a moment's notice, as the people do in
operas. Give me a nice simple girl with a pretty English face, like my
niece Lily Wallace over there! But I am bound to say Miss Latouche makes
a great sensation wherever she goes. Of course she has wonderful
powers."
I was about to inquire in what these powers consisted, when Mrs.
Maitland was called away. Left to myself, I could not repress a smile at
the comparison she had instituted between her own niece and the
beautiful stranger. Lily was well enough, a good-tempered pink and white
girl, who in twenty years' time would develop into just such another
florid matron as her aunt. And then I looked again at Miss Latouche.
She was seated a little apart from the rest, one white arm hanging
listlessly over the harp upon which she had just been playing. Her large
dark eyes had a far-away look of utter abstraction from all sub-lunary
matters that I have never seen in anyone besides. Masses of wavy black
hair were loosely coiled over her head, round a high Spanish comb, and
half concealed her brow in a dusky cloud. At first sight the black
velvet dress, which swept around her in heavy folds, seemed rather an
unsuitable costume for so young a girl. But its sombreness was relieved
by a gorgeous Indian scarf, thrown carelessly over the shoulders.
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