3/13 She is sitting now in a pretty, fantastic chair, the subdued rosy light of the room falling full upon her. She is reading the fashionable daily paper, smiling as some on dits meet her eye. Surely such beauty as that should be immortal. No wonder that Basil Carruthers, whose eyes had never rested long on a woman's face before, should not weary of hers. Her figure, as she reclines, is perfection; the soft, flowing lines, the gracious curves, the free, unfettered grace, the queenly dignity, all combined, enchant one. |