BOOK II
SANCHIA AT WANLESS HALL
I
A telegram was handed to her as she came in from the garden, her broad-
brimmed straw hat in her hand, and a bunch of fritillaries nodding in her
blouse. That dates and places her at once: the time was April, and she was
fond of curious flowers. She stood in the doorway to get the sunset glow
upon the missive, and was herself ensanguined and enhanced, a sunny-
haired, low-breasted young woman of middle height, rather faintly
coloured, wholesome to see, with a bowed upper lip, and clear, grey-blue
eyes of extreme directness and candour. A trick of looking you full, of
considering you and her answer together, she had--a mild, steady beam, a
radiance within the orb which told of a hidden glory. Her brows were
level, eyebrows arched; her bust, though set like Aphrodite's of Melos,
was full. The curving corners of the bow of her lips assured her the
possession, even when she was most serious, of a lurking smile. Taking off
her gardening gloves that she might break the red envelope, she disclosed
a pair of fine, white, nervous hands, and pointed fingers which wore no
rings.
The address, which she was careful to read before she tore the envelope,
was--
Miss Percival, Wanless, Felsboro'.
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