Part 1 (2/2)

She knitted her brows with a vigour demanded by so absorbing a subject: the white head-cloth fell off, and she felt that her fringe was all out of curl and lay straight on her forehead in most unbecoming fas.h.i.+on.

That also would have to be considered in the question of costume--a head-dress which should combine use and ornament. The idea of having only a wet, white rag on one's head! No wonder people looked ”objects!”

Perhaps it would be better to coil the hair about the brow and have no fringe, or at least only a few loose locks that would look equally well, straight or curled.

As Mrs Ray Jefferson was taking all this trouble about her personal appearance, when that appearance would only gratify the sight of a few members of her own s.e.x who were generally too much taken up with their own ailments or complaints to care what their fellow-sufferers looked like, it shows the fallacy of a popular superst.i.tion that women only care to dress for men. Believe me, no--they dress for critics, the critics of their own s.e.x, who with one contemptuous glance can sweep a _toilette_ into insignificance, and make its wearer miserable, or, by some envious approbation, are reluctantly compelled to bestow on it the seal of success.

Is it for men, think you, that those delicate _nuances_ and tints and shades are harmonised and put together? Such a conceit is only pardonable in a set of beings who possess not the delicate faculty of ”detail,” and who, with a limited knowledge of even cardinal colours, describe the graces and beauties of a _toilette_ by saying the wearer had on something white, or something black, or something red, but ”it suited her down to the ground.” A few misguided individuals have even been known to take refuge in the remark (made historic now by comic papers) that ”they never look _under_ the table,” when asked what certain ladies had on. But this is trifling, and only applicable to dinner parties.

Mrs Ray Jefferson's thoughts had not prevented her from taking stock of the other inmates of the room. One or two were lying on couches, but most of them seemed to prefer the low comfortable chairs, that were like rocking-chairs without the rockers.

No one spoke. They looked solemn and suffering, and appeared intent merely on the symptoms of distilled moisture on the visible portion of their persons.

”I think,” said Mrs Jefferson, ”I shall go into the second room. I can stand some more heat.”

She made the remark, abstractedly, in the direction of her neighbour, who only looked at her in a bored and ill-tempered fas.h.i.+on, as befitted one who had gout without arched feet to display as compensation.

”You and I are the only hotel people here,” went on Mrs Jefferson, as she took up the gla.s.s of water and the head-cloth preparatory to moving away. Then she laughed again as she looked at her companion's flushed countenance and generally distressed appearance. ”What a comfort,” she said, ”that we won't look quite such objects at dinner-time! I always find a bath improves my complexion, don't you?”

Mrs Markham gave an impatient grunt. ”As if it mattered what one looks like in a bath!” she said. ”Do you Americans live in public all your lives? You seem to be always thinking of your clothes, or your looks!”

Mrs Jefferson opened her lips to reply with suitable indignation, but the words were cut short by a gasp of astonishment, and lost themselves in one wondering, long-drawn monosyllable--”My--!”

The gouty sufferer also looked up, and in the direction of the doorway, and though she said nothing, her eyes expressed as much surprise as was compatible with a sluggish temperament, and a disposition to cavil at most things and persons that were presented to her notice.

The object on which the two pairs of feminine eyes rested was only the figure of a woman standing between the thick oriental curtains that part.i.tioned off the dressing from the shampooing and douche rooms.

A woman--but a woman so beautiful that she held even her own s.e.x dumb with admiration. She was tall, but not too tall for perfect grace; and slender, but with the slenderness of some young pictured G.o.ddess. She was dark, too, but with a pale clear skin that was more lovely than any dead blonde whiteness; and to crown her charms, she had long rippling hair of jet black hue that was parted from her brow and fell like a veil to her delicate arched feet, and through which the serious, darkly-- glowing eyes looked straight at the wondering faces before her.

The pause she made before entering was brief, but not so brief that every eye there had not scanned enviously and wonderingly her perfect beauty--from the clear-cut, exquisite face and bare, beautifully--shaped arms, to the graceful ankles, gleaming white as sculptured marble through the veiling hair.

Mrs Jefferson first recovered speech.

”Who is she?” she whispered eagerly. ”Not at our hotel I think. Looks like a walking advertis.e.m.e.nt of a new hair restorer. She'd be a fortune to them if she'd have her photograph taken so!”

The newcomer meanwhile advanced and took one of the chairs near Mrs Jefferson. That lady suffered strongly from the curiosity that is characteristic of her admirable nation. She re-seated herself for the purpose of studying the strange vision, and, not being in the least degree afflicted with English reticence, she set the ball of conversation going by an immediate remark:

”Had any of these baths before?”

The person addressed looked at her with grave and serious eyes.

”No,” she said; and her voice was singularly clear and sweet, but with something foreign in the slow accentuation of words. ”I only arrived at this hotel last night.”

”Oh!” said Mrs Jefferson, ”is that so? I thought I hadn't seen you before. Come for your health?”

”Yes,” said the stranger, accepting a gla.s.s of water from the attendant, who had just come forward.

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