Perhaps it was only Nature
unaided that had whispered to her,--"Life is passing, and its
greatest pleasure is as yet untried. Get up and seek it."
Perhaps any of these, or all or none. I could not say. The change
was there. Lucia was conscious, awake. Pure, delicate, as from her
integral nature she would always, but still awake. As she stood, the
sun fell upon her light hair and seemed to get tangled there, a hot,
rose glow was in her face, and the smooth scarlet lips parted in a
faint seducing smile.
"Now, tell me everything," she said, softly, "I am sure the
manuscript is finished by now."
She pointed to a wicker chair for me, and drew one just opposite it
in which she threw herself, full in the morning light, but just
avoiding the stabbing sun-rays. I saw in a sort of mechanical manner
the way in which she was dressed. It was as a woman only dresses
once or twice, perhaps, in her lifetime; and that is when she is
determined to win, through the sheer strength and force of her
beauty, in the face of every obstacle, the man she desires.
Every detail had been thought of, every beauty of her form studied
and enhanced, from the light curls on her forehead, and the curves
of her bosom rising and falling under its lace bodice, to the tiny
shoes that came from beneath the folds of her delicate-coloured
skirt.
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