How shall I describe them? The elder of the two, the one who seemed to possess all the authority, could not have been more than twenty. Her figure was rather matured, yet it was delicate. Her hair was tawny, her skin olive in shade and richly tinted at the cheek-bones. Her eyes, half framed by thick, black-arching brows, reminded me of woodland pools in the dusk of evening,—depths unknown, cool, refreshing in repose. The chin was resolute, the mouth was large but shapely and brilliant, the nose possessed the delicate nostrils characteristic of all sensitive beings—that is to say, thoroughbreds; altogether a confusing, bewildering beauty. At one moment I believed her to be Latin, at the next I was positive that she was Teutonic. I could not discover a single weak point, unless impulsiveness shall be called weakness; this sign of impulsiveness was visible in the lips.
The other—well, I couldn't help it. It was Kismet, fate, the turn in the road, what you will. I fell heels over head in love with her at once. She was charming, exquisite, one of those delicate creatures who always appear in enchantments; a Bouguereau child grown into womanhood, made to fit the protecting frame of a man's arms. Love steals into the heart when we least expect him; and before we are aware, the sly little god has unpacked his trunk and taken possession!
Eyes she had as blue as the Aegean Sea on windy days, blue as the cloud-winnowed sky of a winter's twilight, blue as sapphires—Irish eyes! Her hair was as dark and silken as a plume from the wings of night. (Did I not say that I had some poetry in my system?) The shape of her mouth—Never mind; I can recall only the mad desire to kiss it. A graceful figure, a proud head, a slender hand, a foot so small that I wondered if it really poised, balanced or supported her young body. Tender she must be, and loving, enclitical rather than erect like her authoritative companion. She was adorable.
All this inventory of feminine charms was taken by furtive glances, sometimes caught—or were they taking an inventory of myself? Presently my appetite became singularly submissive. Hunger often is satisfied by the feeding of the eyes. I dropped my napkin on the table and pushed back my chair. My hostesses ceased conversing.
"Ladies," said I courteously, "I offer you my sincere apologies for this innocent intrusion." I looked at my watch. "I believe that you gave me an hour's respite. So, then, I have thirty minutes to my account."
The women gazed at each other. One laughed, and the other smiled; it was the English girl who laughed this time. I liked the sound of it better than any I had yet heard.
(Pardon another parenthesis. I hope you haven't begun to think that I am the hero of this comedy. Let it be furthest from your thoughts. I am only a passive bystander.)
"I sincerely trust that your hunger is appeased," said the one who had smiled.
"It is, thank you." I absently fumbled in my coat pockets, then guiltily dropped my hands. What a terrible thing habit is!
"You may smoke," said the Bouguereau child who was grown into womanhood. Wasn't that fine of her? And wasn't it rather observant, too? I learned later that she had a brother who was fond of tobacco. To her eyes my movement was a familiar one.