er tiny white teeth, and
motioning me to a couch under the window. "Sit down there and wait a
minute. I'll just sketch them roughly for you to get an approximation."

I sat down on the couch facing her, and occupied myself by replacing my
collar, etc. The studio was fireless and uncommonly chilly. Then I
leaned back and studied the girl as she sat there, one little foot
crossed over the other, and a piece of mill-board supported on her
raised knee. The tamarisk seemed to call for little expense of the
divine energy, for she was as tranquil, smiling, and human as usual,
now, as she sketched the bushes. They were far more mechanical work,
naturally, than creating an expression and throwing it on a human face.
The light from the window behind me fell full upon her, and seemed
positively to brighten in her proximity. I wonder how, in their canons
of beauty, the Latins could possibly have inscribed Frons minima,
underrating the forehead, the sublimest feature in the human face, the
great distinction between our countenance and that of our Simian
prototypes. In this woman I thought it was, perhaps, her chief
attraction. Round the temples and summit her light hair lay in thick
loose curls. It did not "stray" anywhere. On the contrary, it was very
intelligent hair, and knew exactly what to do with itself, how to curl
upwards here and catch the light, how to cluster together there in
adorable circles and half-circles in the shadow. And then came her
forehead, a smooth band of white velvet, upon which two bow-like
eyebrows were delicately traced. Excepting these and the vivid blue
colouring in the eyes, and the rose and white tinting of the flesh, she
had no positive beauties. The nose was a straight little nose, but very
English, not the least sculptural, and the lips were rather too thick.
They looked best when she was speaking, and their crimson was divided,
and showed the small, even teeth behind them. Sitting watching her, now
that her face was no longer flushed and animated in conversation, I
noticed it looked white and tired, and all round the eyes were faint,
discoloured shades. She looked overworked: looked as I myself looked in
the early morning when I went upstairs from a night's work in my study
to dress for breakfast.

"What were you doing last night?" I asked, abruptly. If I interrupted
the work on the bushes, no matter; she must work less.

She looked up with a sudden flush.

"How did you know?" she answered, l