Isabel inclined to range
herself in the last category. Madame Merle had thick, fair hair,
arranged somehow "classically" and as if she were a Bust, Isabel
judged- a Juno or a Niobe; and large white hands, of a perfect
shape, a shape so perfect that their possessor, preferring to leave
them unadorned, wore no jewelled rings. Isabel had taken her at first,
as we have seen, for a Frenchwoman; but extended observation might
have ranked her as a German- a German of high degree, perhaps an
Austrian, a baroness, a countess, a princess. It would never have been
supposed she had come into the world in Brooklyn- though one could
doubtless not have carried through any argument that the air of
distinction marking her in so eminent a degree was inconsistent with
such a birth. It was true that the national banner had floated
immediately over her cradle, and the breezy freedom of the stars and
stripes might have shed an influence upon the attitude she there
took towards life. And yet she had evidently nothing of the fluttered,
flapping quality of a morsel of bunting in the wind; her manner
expressed the repose and confidence which come from a large
experience.
Pages:
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306