Mrs. Van Worden, who was standing with her foot on the fender staring into the fire, seemed to feel our presence in a moment, for she turned about suddenly and came swiftly to the door. And then the warmth of her welcome quite dissipated the misgivings I had felt about descending in this summary fashion upon a complete stranger. I like her better than any woman I have met in the country and as we sat up talking half the night, I already know her quite well.
She is tall and thin, with no figure exquisitely dressed—though with much more simplicity than the fashion of Boulder Lake would dictate. But these women have to dress so much oftener during other parts of the year that they are more disposed to a complete rest up here. Still, they can’t help dressing well. Her figure’s only “points” are the hands and feet, which are so small that I stare at them almost rudely. Nevertheless the hands look extremely determined. She is not pretty but has rather the beauty of individuality. Her complexion is dead white, almost transparent, and her nose irregular, but she has great glowing black eyes, a sensitive and beautiful mouth, and soft mahogany-brown hair charmingly arranged. She is about six-and-thirty, I should say, and when she hinted to me that she was nine-and-twenty I felt disposed to offer her my confidence without reserve. Never trust a woman who will not lie about her age after thirty. She is unwomanly and unhuman and there is no knowing what crimes she will commit.
The man on the divan—a long clean-limbed smooth faced delightful looking young fellow, with a humorous mouth, a frank eye and a fine high-bred University air about him—stood up as soon as we entered and was presented as Mr. Latimer of New York. Mr. Van Worden is a banker, very business-like and absent minded, and years older than his wife.
We had the jolliest little supper in one corner of the living-room—at least four of us did, for Mr. Van Worden was on the lake, having dined—and were waited on by the lake-keeper’s wife, a woman of immense weight, but so light on her feet and so deft and swift in her movements that she might have been a fairy. More of her later. She interests me very much.
After supper, as it was blowing rather hard, we all sat about the blazing logs for two hours and Mrs. Van Worden and young Latimer rattled alternately. But they did not irritate me for a moment, they were so impersonal even when talking of themselves, so really clever without seeming to be in the least aware of it, so full of a humour that made no attempt at wit, and so interesting in what they had to say and in their manner of looking at things. I felt grateful enough to hug myself.
Mr. Latimer had recently been in the Philippines and he told some of his humorous adventures with a boyish abandon—I am told he is thirty but he seems much younger—that made me laugh heartily. Suddenly I caught Mr. Nugent’s eye and the expression of delight on his face made me blush to my hair. We were alone for a moment just before going to bed and he whispered to me eagerly:
“You like it here! I know that you do! I am so glad.”
“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed with the enthusiasm of sheer gratitude. “I do. Thank you for bringing me.” Here he looked as if nothing could prevent him from kissing me and I said hurriedly:
“What a difference! It reminds me of something the Prince is reported to have said once: ‘Bright people—yes; but no damned intellect.’” Not but what I fancy the intellect is really there, Polly, but it is reserved as a sub-stratum, from which little sparks are sent up to irradiate, not a constant conscientious blaze like an energetic thunder storm.
Mrs. Van Worden invited me into her bed-room and we muffled ourselves in warm wrappers and talked for hours while the wind howled. She really has seen the world, and is as interesting as—well, as you are. There is a woman who would sympathise with you from A to Z and never criticise. Fancy the attitude of Mrs. Laurence or Mrs. Hammond. What is Christianity, anyhow? A kind heart and a sophisticated mind?