She was kneeling upon the brink of the spring, her sleeve pushed up to her shoulder, her hand and arm in the water, dipping for the fragment of looking-glass.
It was really not wholly inconsistent that he should not directly describe the interview in his next meeting with his betrothed. Indeed, Rebecca was rather struck by the coolness with which he treated the subject when he explained that he had seen the girl and found her beauty all it had been painted.
“Is it possible,” she asked, “that she did not quite please you?”
“Are you sure,” he returned, “that she quite pleases you?”
Rebecca gave a moment to reflection.
“But her beauty”—she began, when it was over.
“Oh!” he interposed, “as a matter of color and curve and proportion she is perfect; one must admit that, however reluctantly.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Why 'reluctantly?'” she said.
It was his turn to give a moment to reflection.