And
to neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpected
found himself within a few hours of landing in England, could the
epithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type of
beauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, was
mentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim and
very healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion and
gray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman of
England, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downs
and snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed by
the restless ocean, The other was equally essentially a woman of
the South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firm
white teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in her
veins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensous, arresting,
conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming of
guitars, a great yellow moon hanging low behind the palms.
"Barbara!" called Nur-el-Din from the dressing table. Mr.
Mackwayte had joined her there and was chatting to Strangwise.
"You will stay and talk to me while I change n'est-ce pas? Your
papa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda with
that animal Fletcher... quel homme terrible... and you shall join
them presently.
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