Having registered her protest, she at once rewarded him with her fluttering delight as she turned back her coatee and tried several effects before finally deciding where to fasten them.
While he had walked at her side, he had been too embarrassed to take much notice of how she was dressed.
Now that her attention was occupied, he grew bold to examine her toilet.
Her beauty was a subtle, intoxicating perfume, like incense suggesting the spirit of worship. She was different from his mother—different even from Vashti, and from any woman that he had known. Her difference might not be the result of virtues—might even be due to omitted qualities. He did not stop to analyze; to him the very newness of her type was a fascination.
Nothing that she wore was useful. It was perishable as a spring garden. A shower of rain, and it would be eternally ruined. None of it could be employed as second-best when its first freshness was gone. It couldn’t even be given to the poor: her attire was too modish—it bespoke luxury and marked the wearer’s class in society. Her clothes were the whim of the moment—utterly uneconomic. If Mrs. Sheerug had had to pass judgment on them, she would have said that they weren’t sensible.
In the exact sense they weren’t even clothing; they were adornments, planned with a view to exposing quite as much as to concealing the person. To enhance the effect of beauty was their sole purpose.
The skirt was a creamy shade of muslin, with small green and blue flowers dotted over it. It was thin and blowy, and so modeled as to pronounce rather than to hide the lines of the figure. A pair of pretty feet peeped from under; the kind of feet that demand a carriage and are not meant for walking. They were clad in gossamer silk-stockings; the shoes seemed to have been designed for dancing and were absurdly high in the heel. Both shoes and stockings exactly matched the creamy tint of the muslin. Teddy thought with joy that any one who wore them would be in constant need of a man’s protection. There would be many puddles in life over which, with such shoes, she would require to be carried.
The coatee was of apple-green satin, turned back from the neck and belted in at the waist, revealing a gauzy blouse cut into a low V-shape, so as to display the gentle breathing of the throat and breast.
His eyes stole up to her face. It was shadowed by a broad hat of limp straw, trimmed with dog-roses and trailing cherry-colored ribbon. On her fresh young cheeks was the faintest dust of powder, giving to them a false bloom and smoothness. He wondered why she did that, when her unaided complexion would have been so much more attractive. Below her left eye was a beauty-patch. Behind her left ear hung a tremulous curl, which added a touch of demure quaintness. In appearance she was like to one of Lely’s portraits of the beauties of the Cavalier period—to a Nell Gwynn, whose very aspect of innocence made her latent naughtiness the more provocative.
Though he was exceptionally ignorant of the feminine arts and familiar only with domestic types of women, Teddy thought that he now understood why she had taken two hours to dress. For his sake she had made herself a work of art. It was as though she had told him, “I want you to like me better than any girl in the world, Teddy”—only, for some unexplained reason, she had avoided calling him Teddy as yet.