resemble so
exactly the figure that he had imagined--it showed, after all, that one
could take the world's verdict about these things.

The world's verdict about Lady Adela was that she was dull, but
important, bearing her tall dried body as a kind of flag for the right
people to range themselves behind her--and range themselves they did.
Standing now, with Felix Brun in front of her demanding a display of
graciousness, she extended her patronage. Thin, with her sharp nose and
tight mouth, she was like an exclamation mark that had left off
exclaiming, and it was only her ability to be gracious, and the sense
that she conveyed of having any number of rights and possessions to
stand for, that gave her claim to attention.

Her black hat was harsh, her hair iron-grey, her eyes cold with lack of
intelligence. Arkwright thought her unpleasant.

Standing a little behind her was a tall thin girl who was obviously
determined to be as ungracious as a protest against her companion's
amiability should require. The girl's thinness was accentuated by her
rather tightly clinging white dress, and beneath her long black gloves
her hands moved a little awkwardly, as though she were not quite sure
what she should do with them. A large black hat overshadowed her face,
but Arkwright could see that her eyes, large and dark, were more
beautiful than anything else about her. Her nose was too thin, her mouth
too large, her face too white and pinched.

Her body as she stood there was graceful, but not yet disciplined, so
that she made movements and then checked them, giving the impression
that she wished to do a number of things, but was uncertain of the
correctness of any of them.

She was of foreign blood Arkwright decided--much too black and white for
England. But it was her expression that demanded his attention. As she
watched Felix Brun talking to Lady Adela, she seemed to be longing to
express the contempt that she felt for both of them, and yet to have
behind that desire a pathetic hesitation as to whether she had a right
to be contemptuous of anyone.

It was the pathos, Arkwright decided, that one ultimately felt
concerning her. She looked lonely, she looked frightened, and she looked
"in the devil of a temper." Her black eyes would be beautiful, whether
they were filled with tears or with anger, and it seemed that they must
very often be filled with both. "I wouldn't like to have the handling of
her," thought Arkwright, and the