“And yet, I heard you translate a Latin epigram very creditably the other day.”
“Nonsense! Colonel Dacre. Your ears deceived you. I should have been so exhausted mentally by the effort that I should not have been able to frame an intelligible sentence for at least a year afterward, and you see I am quite rational to-day.”
He rose with an impatient, weary air. It seemed as if she were such an incorrigible trifler, and had so thoroughly accustomed herself to look on the ridiculous side of everything, that now she could not be serious even if she wished.
And yet she was so lovely; and what better excuse did a man ever need for such folly?
“‘If to her share a thousand errors fall,
Look in her face and you forget them all,’”
the colonel muttered to himself, rather grimly, as he furtively examined the delicate profile which was just sufficiently out of the straight Greek line to give it more piquancy without losing the grace of the model.
Though she was somewhat above the middle height, she might have worn Cinderella’s glass slipper with ease, and her hand was so small, and soft, and plump, it seemed to melt in your grasp.
Altogether, she was the only woman yet who had ever entirely satisfied him. Others had charmed him for a time, but he had never learned to love them because somehow they had always managed to disenchant him before he reached that point. But he had only to see Lady Gwendolyn to tumble headlong, foolishly in love; and though he had been struggling to get out of bondage ever since, each month seemed to strengthen his chains.
Now he had surrendered at discretion, and felt himself at the mercy of this black-browed witch of a woman, who seemed to think it a pleasant pastime to break the hearts of those who loved her.