She had a fat face, a broad expanse of unpleasant-looking, elderly bosom, big, shapeless white arms.
Her contour was almost gone.

Her teeth were a curious mixture of natural, gold, and porcelain.

"Miss Anstruther--Miss Sackville," called Burlingham.

"Miss Sackville, Miss Violet Anstruther." Miss Anstruther and Susan exchanged bows--Susan's timid and frightened, Miss Anstruther's accompanied by a hostile stare and a hardening of the fat, decaying face.
"Miss Connemora--Miss Sackville." Burlingham was looking at the younger woman--she who sat on the edge of the little stage.

She, too, was a blond, but her hair had taken to the chemical somewhat less reluctantly than had Miss Anstruther's, with the result that Miss Connemora's looked golden.