“Never.”
“Nor have you held any correspondence together?”
“None, directly. I have received some messages; one to that purport I have already told you. Indeed, it was but t' other day that I knew for certain she was in Europe.”
“What was she in appearance,—what style and manner of person?”
“You shall guess before I tell you,” said Paten, smiling sadly.
“A dark-eyed, dark-haired woman,—brunette,—tall,—with a commanding look,—thin lips,—and strongly marked chin.”
“Here,” said he, approaching the binnacle lantern, and holding out a miniature he had drawn from his breast,—“here you can recognize the accuracy of your description.”
“But can that be like her?”
“It is herself; even the careless ease of the attitude, the voluptuous indolence of the 'pose,' is all her own.”
“But she is the very type of feminine softness and delicacy. I never saw eyes more full of gentle meaning, nor a mouth more expressive of womanly grace.”