In a little summer house through whose latticed sides the gadding
vines were so interlocked and twined, as to remind you of the legend
of Salmacis and Hermes' son, sat a girl. Her wide-brimmed hat rested
upon the seat beside her, and round about it was a double girdle of
ivy, as if twining there. Looking through the door of the dainty
place you could not see the girl's face; for she had turned her head,
and her chin was resting upon her slim, white hands, as she read from
a book that lay upon her lap.
Her hair you could see, for it hung over her shoulders and down her
white dress, like 'a gold flag over a sail.' For myself I usually
prefer dark hair for women; but ah! who could have gainsaid the glory
of those luxurious coils that hung over that sweet neck and draping
the curving shoulders! Through the open doorway the sun streamed upon
it; and the soft tangles gleamed like ruddy gold. Hence you will see
that the colour was not that insipid 'blonde' with which shallow
girls may adorn their heads for the sum of ten cents.
But although her face could not be seen, anyone looking at the
balance of the head, the statuesque neck, would have surmised that it
was beautiful.
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