Grunewald was already closeted with Seraphina. The toilet was over;

and the Princess, tastefully arrayed, sat face to face with a tall

mirror. Sir John's description was unkindly true, true in terms and

yet a libel, a misogynistic masterpiece. Her forehead was perhaps

too high, but it became her; her figure somewhat stooped, but every

detail was formed and finished like a gem; her hand, her foot, her

ear, the set of her comely head, were all dainty and accordant; if

she was not beautiful, she was vivid, changeful, coloured, and

pretty with a thousand various prettinesses; and her eyes, if they

indeed rolled too consciously, yet rolled to purpose. They were her

most attractive feature, yet they continually bore eloquent false

witness to her thoughts; for while she herself, in the depths of her

immature, unsoftened heart, was given altogether to manlike ambition

and the desire of power, the eyes were by turns bold, inviting,

fiery, melting, and artful, like the eyes of a rapacious siren. And

artful, in a sense, she was. Chafing that she was not a man, and

could not shine by action, she had conceived a woman's part, of

answerable domination; she sought to subjugate for by-ends, to rain

influence and be fancy free; and, while she loved not man, loved to

see man obey her. It is a common girl's ambition. Such was perhaps

that lady of the glove, who sent her lover to the lions. But the

snare is laid alike for male and female, and the world most artfully

contrived.

Near her, in a low chair, Gondremark had arranged his limbs into a

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>