I had
never been able to dissociate the early impression she made on me from
her later redeeming phases. Poor Florrie Grant vanishing out of the
doorway under Miss Merivale's sublime contempt came back to my memory
time and again, and I made up my mind that Alice Merivale and I could
never claim to be kindred souls.
But when I saw her after the lapse of some years and observed the
perfection of her physical loveliness I could no longer harden my
heart against her. It has always been a weakness of mine to slavishly
admire feminine beauty. There is a witchery about graceful curves, and
heavy eyelids, drooping lashes and dimpled chins that stronger souls
than mine cannot resist; and when the haughty little Alice of my
girlhood stood before me in all the glory of her fresh and beautiful
womanhood I forgave her all the past.
I hardly knew what she talked about, so rapturously did I gaze, now
upon her delicate pink ear, now upon the melting curves that brought
her white chin into provoking notice, then her roguish, winning,
violet eyes with their long dark lashes and languid brows. There was
everything to love in her so far as the eye could see, from the waving
profusion of golden hair to the toe of her dainty slipper.
I had met her at all the entertainments of the season. I had watched
her pretty manoeuvres and followed her flirtations with a quiet
amusement. Her admirers were numberless and pursued her with the most
emphatic devotedness.
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