They were not violet eyes.
The girl who owned those twinkling, needle-sharp eyes was nothing
like that girl he had been thinking of so much since his previous
visit to Boston. She was rather small, dressed in the extreme mode
in a cheap way, wearing a tawdry gilt chain, several rings, and a
wrist watch. There was something about her which reminded Tunis very
strongly of the girls of Portygee Town, although she was a
pronounced blonde.
Her hair was really her only attractive possession. Those sharp
brown eyes did not please Tunis Latham at all. And there was a
certain smart boldness in her manner, too, which caused him a
distinct feeling of repugnance.
He plunged into his errand with all the boldness that a bashful man
usually displays when he finally gets his courage to the sticking
point.
"You are Miss Bostwick?" he asked.
"What kind of lace--goodness! Who are you?" asked the girl, her
stilted, saleslady manner changing to amazement with surprising
suddenness.
"I live at Big Wreck Cove. I guess you've heard of it," said Tunis.
"Big Wreck Cove? Do tell!" Her eyes danced. "You're from down on the
Cape, then. I guess you want some lace for your wife. What kind did
she send you for?"
Tunis brushed this aside bluntly.
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