He stood beside her, directing the operation with a peremptoriness of tone which seemed to Rowland to denote a considerable advance in intimacy.

As Rowland entered, Christina was losing patience.

"Do it yourself, then!" she cried, and with a rapid movement unloosed the great coil of her tresses and let them fall over her shoulders.
They were magnificent, and with her perfect face dividing their rippling flow she looked like some immaculate saint of legend being led to martyrdom.

Rowland's eyes presumably betrayed his admiration, but her own manifested no consciousness of it.

If Christina was a coquette, as the remarkable timeliness of this incident might have suggested, she was not a superficial one.
"Hudson 's a sculptor," said Rowland, with warmth.