The dark masses of waving hair; the lovely face with its warm Southern tints; the dark eyes lighted with fire and passion; the perfect mouth with its proud, sweet, imperial, yet tender lips; the white, dimpled chin; the head and face unrivaled in their glorious contour; the straight, dark brows that could frown and yet soften as few other brows could; the white neck, half hidden, half revealed by the coquettish dress; the white rounded arms and beautiful hands--all would have struck the master.

Her dress fell round her in folds that would have charmed an artist.

It was of some rich, transparent material, the pale amber hue of which enhanced her dark loveliness.

The white arms were half shown, half covered by rich lace--in the waves of her dark hair lay a yellow rose.
She looked like a woman whose smile could be fatal and dangerous as that of a siren, who could be madly loved or madly hated, yet to whom no man living could be indifferent.
She played for some few minutes with the rings on her fingers, smiling to herself a soft, dreamy smile, as though her thoughts were very pleasant ones; then she took up a volume of poems, read a few lines, and then laid the book down again.

The dark eyes, with a gleam of impatience in them, wandered to the clock.
"How slowly those hands move!" she said.
"You are restless," observed a calm, low voice; "watching a clock always makes time seem long." "Ah, Lady Peters," said the rich, musical tones, "when I cease to be young, I shall cease to be impatient." Lady Peters, the chosen confidante and chaperon of the brilliant heiress, was an elderly lady whose most striking characteristic appeared to be calmness and repose.