If I went out in the gloaming to smoke a cigar, as I liked best to do
among the sighs of the roses, in a few minutes that beautiful, fair face
was sure to be smiling at my side. She had a pretty, picturesque way of
throwing a black lace shawl over her shoulders and of draping it round
her head, so making her face look a thousand times more fair.
She would come to me with that graceful, easy, dignified walk of hers
and say:
"If I am not intruding, Sir Edgar, I should enjoy a few minutes with
you."
She had a wonderful gift of conversation--piquant, sparkling and
intellectual. If I had been the dullest of the dull, I should have known
that such a woman would not pass her life as a companion unless she had
some wonderful end in view. She was far too brilliant. She would have
made a good ambassadress, for she could make herself all things to all
men. No matter what subject interested you, on that she could speak. She
seemed to understand every one intuitively; one's likes, dislikes,
tastes. She had a wondrous power of reading character. She was worldly
with the worldly, good with the good, romantic with the young, sensible
with the old.
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