'One may as well make the best of one's natural advantages,' said Hazel with a laugh. 'I suppose if I were what people call "limpid," and "transparent," I might like that too.' But the clear girlish purity of the depths referred to was as transparent as the Summer blue.
'Have you ever been told,' said Stuart, lowering his voice a little, 'of your very remarkable resemblance to one of the greatest puzzles of history?'
'No,' said Hazel. 'And you do not know me well enough to tell what I resemble.'
'Pardon me—pardon me! Do you think I could not have told, after that one first meeting in the wood?'
'If you could,' said Wych Hazel, with a lift of her eyebrows,
'I cannot imagine how society can be a problem to you, Mr.
Nightingale.'
'There never was but one woman, of those whose pictures have come down to us, whose mouth could be at once so mischievous and so sweet. You are aware the mouth is the index to the character?'
Hazel answered with some reserve (direct compliments always gave her a check)
'No—Yes. I have heard people say so.'
'And you know the woman I mean?'
'She is bound to be a witch!—but further than that—'