It was not such a very striking face either, at first sight. The

features were not perfect, by any means, and they were certainly not

Greek. Anacreon would not have compared Margaret's complexion to roses

mixed with milk, but he might have thought of cream tinged with

peach-bloom, and it would have been called a beautiful skin anywhere.

Margaret had rather light brown eyes, but when she was interested in

anything the pupils widened so much as to make them look very dark.

Then the lids would stay quite motionless for a long time, and the

colour would fade a little from her whole face; but sometimes, just

then, she would bite her lower lip, and that spoiled what some people

would have called the intenseness of her expression. It is true that

her teeth were beyond criticism and her lips were fresh and creamy

red--but Mr. Lushington wished she would not do it. The muses are never

represented 'biting their lips'; and in his moments of enthusiasm he

liked to think that Margaret was his muse. She had thick brown hair

that waved naturally, but made no little curls and baby ringlets, such

as some young women have, or make. The line of her hair along her

forehead and temples, though curved, was rather severe. She had been

fair when a little girl, but had grown darker after she was fifteen.

When she thought of it, she rather liked her own face, for she was not

everlastingly trying to be some one else. It was a satisfactory face,

on the whole, she thought, perfectly natural and frank, and healthy. No

doubt it would have been nice to be as beautiful as a Madame de

Villeneuve, or a Comtesse de Castiglione, but as that was quite

impossible, it was easy to be satisfied with what she had in the way of

looks and not to envy the insolent radiance of the fair beauties, or

the tragic splendour of the dark ones. Besides, great beauty has

disadvantages; it attracts attention at the wrong moment, it makes

travelling troublesome, it is obtrusive and hinders a woman from doing

exactly what she pleases. It is celebrity, and therefore a target for

every photographing tourist and newspaper man.

And then, to lose it, as one must, is a kind of suffering which no male

can quite understand. Every great beauty feels that she is to be

unjustly condemned to death between forty and fifty, and that every day

of her life brings her nearer to ignominious public execution; and

though beauties manage to last longer, yet is their strength but sorrow

and weakness, depending largely on the hairdresser, the dentist, the

dressmaker and other functions of the unknown quantities x and y,

as the mathematicians say.




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