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She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. . "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. The Disguise 261 VI.
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