Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 137.djvu/199

1885.] was no sun now, thought Gretchen, looking up; what was the use of a parasol? No, that was not the Princess's intention: the parasol was for the rescue of the fugitive hat, which for some minutes had been reposing peacefully on the rock beside her. The intention was excellent, though the offer came a little tardily. Gretchen expressed her gratitude.

"I see I am too late," said the Princess, with ponderous good-nature, after gazing at the damp hat intently for a minute. During this minute Gretchen was putting her new acquaintance through a critical examination.

The Princess wore a pale silk dress, long-trained and with trimmings of lace. Her black hair was uncovered, and her neck and arms were loaded with coral ornaments. She was a little older-looking seen thus near, perhaps twenty-six, but she lost nothing in beauty. She was a rich Southern flower, full blown and at the prime of its perfection. A little time more and the flower would be overblown; now it has attained that perfect development which has not yet been touched by decay. A few more years of indolent habits will have destroyed the symmetry of her splendid figure; some hundredweight more of dulcétia will have stained the enamel of her dazzling teeth; a few thousand more cigarettes will have deepened the delicate amber-tint on her fingers to an unsightly brown; time may even develop the dark shadow above her lip, which as yet is only a silky down, into an unbecomingly masculine ornament; inaction, sickly sweetmeats, and tobacco together, will soon have deteriorated the general cast of her features. But all this will only be some years hence. She may not be beautiful for long, but certainly she is beautiful now. Her eyes alone – eyes of the languid oriental type – would be enough to make her beautiful. They are peculiarly deep, and instinctively you wonder what lies under that depth: is it an immense fund of brooding passion, or only an immense stupidity?

This was the question which Gretchen asked herself, even as she acknowledged Princess Tryphosa's beauty. She acknowledged it freely, without reserve and almost without a pang. There was too absolute a difference between the styles of their beauty to admit of jealousy on that score. The rival whom a beautiful woman most fears is always the one who is likest herself: a blonde will better stand being outshone by a brunette than by one of her own complexion, just as a swarthy beauty will hate a fair-skinned rival less than one who poaches on her own premises by being dark. Gretchen's self-confidence was not shaken; Tryphosa's beauty was an incentive which made her spirit rise at the thought of the coming warfare. She stood and looked full at the Princess, and the Princess looked full at her; and between the two stood István Tolnay, with a gleam of something inscrutable in his eyes, and with his most provoking smile upon his face.

"Princess!" he cried, in polite consternation – for it was necessary that somebody should throw himself into the breach – "why did you not call me to your assistance? How shall I ever forgive myself for having let you approach thus unnoticed? I cannot plead being either deaf or short-sighted. A propos," – and he turned to Gretchen – "that word reminds me where have you left that excellent family lawyer, or family friend, Fräulein Mohr?"

"At Draskócs."