When she sat down, I immediately welcomed her by name to my table. The
only surprise she showed at my knowledge of her name and my
self-introduction was to lift her head slightly and look at me, as if
wondering whether I was likely to be an inquisitive and troublesome host;
and also, as I thought, to measure me according to her measure. It was a
quick look, and the interest she showed was of a passive kind. She asked
me as she might an old acquaintance--or a waiter--if the soup was good,
and what the fish was like; decided on my recommendation to wait for the
entrees; requested her next neighbour to pass the olives; in an
impersonal way began to talk about the disadvantages of life at sea;
regretted that all ship food tasted alike; wondered if the cook knew how
to make a Russian salad; and added that the menu was a national
compromise.
Now that she was close to me, I could see that her beauty was real and
notable. Her features were regular, her eyes of a greyish violet, her
chin strong, yet not too strong--the chin of a singer; her hands had that
charming quiet certainty of movement possessed by so few; and her colour
was of the most delightful health.
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