She declined to seat herself in the circle, although warmly
importuned by her guests thus to add brilliancy to their joyous
party, yet remained standing near Rosa, interested and amused by the
running fire of compliment and badinage that went to make up the
hilarious confusion. If the family record had been consulted, the
truth that she had counted her thirty-second summer would have
astonished her husband, with her new neighbors. Apparently she was
not over twenty-five. Her chestnut hair was a marvel for brightness
and profusion, her broad brow smooth and white, her figure, as
Winston had described it to his sister, rounded, even to
voluptuousness, yet supple as it had been at fifteen. In her cheeks,
too, the blushes fluctuated readily and softly, and when she smiled,
her teeth showed like those of a little child in size and purity.
Her voice matched her beauty well, never loud, always melodious,
with a peculiar, gliding, legato movement of the graceful sentences,
for the pleasing effect of which she was indebted partly to Nature,
and much more to Art. She appeared on this evening in a green silk
dress, matronly in shade and general style, but not devoid of
coquettish arrangement in the square corsage, the opening of which
was filled with foam-like puffs of thulle, threatening, when her
bust heaved in mirth or animated speech, to overflow the sheeny
boundaries. A chaplet of ivy-leaves encircled her head, and trailed
upon one shoulder; her bracelets were heavy, chased gold without
gems of any kind; a single diamond glittered--a point of prismatic
light at her throat. Her wedding-ring was her only other ornament.
"Very sweet, I grant you, and very flavorless," returned Rosa. "And
alarmingly apt to turn sour upon the stomach. I had rather be fed
upon pepper lozenges."
"You should have been born in the Spice Islands," said the hostess,
tapping the dark cheek with her fore finger. "But we could not spare
you from our wassail-cup to-night, my dear Lady Pimento!"
She bent slightly, that the flattery might reach no other ear. She
may not have known that Rosa's Creole skin was at a wretched
disadvantage, as seen against the green silk background; but others
noticed it, and thought how few complexions were comparable to the
wearer's. She had the faculty of converting into a foil nearly every
woman who approached her.
"Thank you! So I am pimento, am I?" queried Rosa, pertly. "And each
of us is to personate some condiment--sweet, ardent, or aromatic--in
the exhilarating draught! Which shall Mr. Harrison here be?
"'Cinnamon or ginger, nutmeg or cloves?'"