Although past fifty, she was tall and slight, with the grace of a girl. Her hair, white and soft and wavy, was worn high in a style quite her own; her skin was pink and white as a child's; her blue eyes shone with tenderness, and they had a merry, dancing light in them continually. Her face was of a delicate oval, with a nose slender, beautifully modelled, and exceptionally high between the eyes. She wore a green-white dress of cloth individual in its cut and very plain, with an old silver belt and brooch to match. Her hands, fragile and beautiful as shells, were ringless.
"It seems so perfectly flat to say that I am glad to see you, doesn't it?" she asked, as Dermott smiled down at her.
"I like it just the same," he answered.
"When did you get in?" she inquired.
"I came over from Havre yesterday. I was
busy with some English folk about a mine, or I would have tried to see you last evening."
"And you will stay—" She paused.
"Ten days at most."
"Ah!" she said. "That's horrid! You will miss so many pleasant things! A Bernhardt first night for one."
"I'm a horny-handed son of toil, beautiful cousin," he answered, "and I have come on business only."