The woman beside her had indeed greater gifts than mere beauty. She had seven red lights in her hair, which was always extraordinarily tumbled without being untidy; a heart of gold; and a tongue of silver.
Many men loved her, as fine men cannot help loving what is lovable and sweet, and gentle, and kind, and brave, and gay, and wise.
Even women loved her; and so the worst thing they could find to say of her was that she must have been quite pretty—once!
In return, she loved all men, and was kind to all women, loving one steadfastly.
But now, half in pity, half for some reason she could not fathom, she found a place in her heart for Poppy Destin, too. She was touched by the girl's beauty, on which her seeing eyes saw the shadow of tragedy.
"Quite a child!" was her thought. "Too young to have so much to hide behind those lovely eyes!" A line from Pater's monograph on Monna Lisa came into her mind:
"Hers are the eyes that have looked on all the world; and the eyelids are a little weary."
She put out her hand to Poppy. If Poppy had eyes like Monna Lisa, she herself had the hands of that Mother of all saints and sinners—only a little browner.
"I would like to be your friend," she said quietly.
Poppy flushed, and then became pale. The hand Mrs. Portal touched stiffened a little, and the lilac eyes looked away at the sea rather than meet the kindness of the other's glance—but they were dim with tears. Mrs. Portal's warm, Irish heart felt a chill. She was a little sore too, for her friendship was more often sought than proffered, and never before had she known a repulse. She could not know that the girl before her felt honoured as never in her life before, and was filled with gratitude and affection. But Clementine Portal was a creature full of intuition and understanding. Possibly some of the girl's feeling subtly communicated itself to her, for she became aware that the rebuff did not come of rudeness or indifference—or coldness of heart; but of some other strange feeling.