And now, what am I to say of Miss Anstruther’s personal appearance? She is certainly very different from what I imagined—altogether different. I will acknowledge so far; and yet I don’t know if I am agreeably surprised in her or not. She is tall and slight, though not at all thin, with a lithe figure which reminds me of a leopard or some such animal; and every time she moves I expect to see her take a waving serpentine leap which shall land her noiselessly on the opposite side of the room; which peculiarity brings so forcibly to my mind her nickname of ‘Lionne’ that I have very nearly called her by it more than once to-day. Her complexion is pale and sallow (Janie calls it ‘creamy’—so I suppose that is the right name for it), and her eyes, which are enormous (much too big, in my opinion; I dislike startling eyes in animals or women), are black, and very variable in their expression. Her nose is straight, and rather sharp; and she has an absurdly short upper lip, with a deep channel in the centre of it—in fact, scarcely any upper lip at all. But she has a pretty set of teeth (I record this fact to show that I am not permitting myself to be in the least swayed by prejudice), and apparently a large quantity of dark hair—at least Janie tells me that when unbound it reaches to her knees.
Still, although doubtless she can boast of some good features, to call such a woman beautiful is absurd; and one has only to see her stand side by side with my rosebud wife to perceive the worse points which she possesses. It brings out at once, as I made Janie laugh by observing, all the yellow that is in her. She is not so plain, perhaps, as I expected; but ‘beautiful’ is the last epithet I should apply to Margaret Anstruther. No woman who is not fair can possibly be pretty; and how any man can prefer a dark face is to me inexplicable.
June 18th.—She certainly is a most extraordinary girl, and even more disagreeable than I thought her yesterday. We really got on so well together the first day; she chatted so pleasantly during the forenoon to Janie and myself, and sung to us in the evening (she has not got a bad voice by any means), that I began to think I had made a mistake about her cold, reserved manner, and that if her visit were to last for six weeks instead of six months, it might not prove such an affliction. And so, wishing to make myself agreeable, I told Janie this morning at breakfast that she must be sure and order a very good dinner, as I intended to ask some of my brother officers to dine with us. I knew that Forster and others were anxious to make Miss Anstruther’s acquaintance; and a bright thought struck me this morning, that if I manage well we may get her engaged and married, and out of the way altogether in the course of a month. Of course, it will be a great deal of bother; but it will be much better to get it over in that manner than to have it spun out for several months, and to wind up perhaps with a wedding after all. So I have determined to be very hospitable, and keep open house for the next few weeks; and I sha’n’t let Janie interfere with her cousin in any way; and we will see what that will do. My wife opened her blue eyes when I informed her of the impending guests, and said no one had called on Miss Anstruther yet.
‘Of what consequence is that?’ I said. ‘The whole regiment will call this morning, and I know they will be dying for an invitation afterwards;’ and I nodded in a knowing manner at Miss Anstruther, as much as to say that I knew all about it.
‘I hope you do not invite them on my account,’ she said, curtly, answering my look.
‘I invite them on their own, Miss Anstruther. You do not seem to know your value. Young ladies are very scarce in Mushin-Bunda; you could not have come to a better place, if you want to have it all your own way. I don’t think you will find a rival here.’
‘A glorious thought to goad one on to victory,’ she said, sarcastically, and her manner seemed to change from that moment. She became again reserved and haughty; and when I returned home from my professional duties, Janie met me almost in tears, with the intelligence that she was sure dear Lionne was not well, for she had scarcely spoken a word all day, and had sat so silent during the visits of the officers of the regiment that Janie had had all the talking to do.
‘Never mind!’ I answered soothingly; ‘she will be different after dinner. A glass of champagne will thaw her reserve, and draw her out of herself.’
‘But I so much wished that they should admire her,’ said dear little Janie in a despondent voice.