She stood on the rug before the fire, a slim figure, but not tall. She was wearing a cloth gown of the palest rose lavender, the bodice cut low, fitting close to her white shoulders, lace on it somewhere like a mist, a wildly disheveled bow of twisted black velvet that seemed to strike at him, it was so vivid by contrast with all this gem paleness of color. A necklace of opals, very small and bound together by the thinnest thread of gold, with a pendant lay upon her breast. Her pale blond hair was dressed simply, bound about her head like piety, not a crown. No color in her skin, only the soft pink lips, sweetened somehow by that pointed flute in the upper lip, long sweeping brows, darker than her hair, spread like slender wings above the wide open blue eyes, seeing all things gravely, neither asking nor giving confidences.
“This is Mr. Shippen, Helen. My wife, Shippen,” George finished cheerfully.
He had made a hasty survey of Helen. She would do, he decided, if only she would go, move off, say the right thing.
Helen offered her hand. She was glad to meet Mr. Shippen.
He bowed over this hand, very glad, and so forth and so on.
She said something about the weather; he did not notice what she said nor what he answered; something about the same weather of course. But whatever he said had not released him from her gaze. She kept him covered. Cutter had joined in with his feelings and opinion on the weather. What was said made no difference. Shippen had to keep his eyes down or running along the floor, not on Mrs. Cutter. Men do that when they are startled or ill at ease with a woman, if they are uncertain about where to place her in the category of her sex. Shippen was very uncertain on this point. He had seen many a woman better gowned, more beautiful, but never had he seen one with this winged look.
“Are we late?” Cutter asked, addressing his wife.
“No,” she answered briefly, as if words were an item with her.
“Well, anyhow we are hungry,” he laughed. “Took Shippen out for a little winter golf. Links rotten after all this rain. No game. All we got was an appetite.”
Shippen glanced at Cutter. For the first time he recognized Cutter. Smart fellow, pipping his village shell. But, good heaven, this room! Might have got further than this in his scenery.