The girl Philippa had fixed her grey eyes on him with fascinated but troubled intensity. They remained so for a while after he had finished speaking.
Presently, and partly to herself, she said:
"Pour ça—no. So far. But it has never before occurred to me that I look like a cocotte."
She turned, and, resting one arm on the gunwale, gazed down into the limpid green water.
"Have you a fresh handkerchief?" she asked, not turning toward him.
"Yes—but——"
"Please! I must wash my face."
She bent swiftly, dipped both hands into the water, and scrubbed her lips and cheeks. Then, extending her arm behind her for the handkerchief, she dried her skin, sat up again, and faced him with childish resignation. A few freckles had become visible; her lips were no longer vivid, and there now remained only the faintest tint of color under her clear, cool skin.
"You see," she said, "I'm not attractive unless I help nature. One naturally desires to be thought attractive."
"On the contrary, you are exceedingly attractive!"