He asked himself what it was. So
often a face familiar over half a lifetime perhaps, suddenly at some new
angle, or because, by chance, one has looked at it searchingly, shows a
new expression, a new contour never before observed, giving fresh
significance to the character. There was that in Ingolby's mind, a depth
of desire, a resolve to stake two lives against the chances of Fate,
which made him look at Fleda now with a revealing intensity. What was the
new thing in her carriage which captured his eye? Presently it flashed
upon him--memories of Mexico and the Southern United States; native women
with jars of water upon their heads; the erect, well-balanced form; the
sure, sinuous movement; the step measured, yet free; the dignity come of
carrying the head as though it were a pillar of an Athenian temple, one
of the beautiful Caryatides yonder by the AEgean Sea.
It smote him as a sudden breath of warm air strikes a face in the night
coolness of the veldt. His pulses quickened, he flushed with the soft
shock of it. There she was, refined, civilized, gowned like other women,
with all the manners and details of civilization and social life about
her; yet, in spite of it all, she did not belong; there was about her
still something remote and alien.
Pages:
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435