Between these inky lines the eyes themselves were as coldly gray
and empty as a northern sea, yet they were attractive, if only by an
almost sinister contrast. The skin was extraordinarily white, and it did
not occur to Mary that Nature alone had not whitened it, or reddened the
large scarlet mouth. Women did not paint at the convent, nor did Lady
MacMillan's guests. Mary did not know anything about paint. She thought
the newcomer very handsome, yet somehow formidable.
In a moment other people trooped into the corridor and grouped round the
door of Mary's compartment. There was a wisp of a woman with neat
features and sallow complexion, who looked the essence of respectability
combined with a small, tidy intelligence. She was in brown from head to
foot, and her hair was brown, too, where it was not turning gray.
Evidently she was Mrs. Collis, for she took a lively interest in the
bag, and said she must have it down, as the stupid people had put it
wrong side up. She spoke like an American, though not with the
delicately sweet drawl that Peter had. Behind her stood a pretty girl
whose features were neatly cut out on somewhat the same design, and
whose eyes and hair were of the same neutral brown. She had a waist of
painful slenderness, and she reminded Mary of a charming wren. Behind
her came another girl, older and of a different type, with hair yellow
as a gold ring, round eyes of opaque, turquoise blue, without
expression, and complexion of incredible pink and white.
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