Page:The Novels and Tales of Henry James, Volume 1 (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907).djvu/88

 think about that it was not—like Roderick's for instance—one of the quick and mobile faces over which expression flickers like a candle in a wind. They followed each other slowly, distinctly, sincerely, and you might almost have fancied that as they came and went they gave her a nameless pain. She was tall and straight and had an air of maidenly strength and decision. She had a broad forehead and dark eyebrows, a trifle thicker than those of classic beauties; her dark pupils, a trifle heavy, failed, as might be said, of publicity of expression. Her features were bravely irregular, and her mouth enabled her smile—which was the principal grace of her physiognomy—to display itself with magnificent amplitude. Rowland indeed had not yet seen this accident produced; but something assured him that when, on due cause shown, she should cease to be serious, it would be like the final rising of the plain green curtain of the old theatre on some—not very modern—comedy. She wore a scanty white dress and had a vaguely rustic, provincial air; she looked like a distinguished villager. She was evidently a girl of extreme personal force, but she lacked pliancy. She was hemming a kitchen towel with the aid of a large steel thimble. She bent her almost portentous eyes at last on the work again and let Rowland explain himself.

"I 've become suddenly so very intimate with your son," he said at last, addressing himself to Mrs. Hudson, "that it seems proper I should make your acquaintance."

"Very proper," murmured the poor lady, and after a moment's hesitation was on the point of adding 54