Margaret was looking her best. White was extremely
becoming to her; pink--pale pink--being next in order. Her dress
was of white, with facings of delicate pale pink, and the white
plumes in her hat were based in pale pink, which also lined the
inside of the brim. She watched him, and, now that it was once
more his personality pitted directly and wholly against hers, she,
in spite of herself, began to yield to him again her respect--the
respect every intelligent person must feel for an individuality
that is erect and strong. But as she was watching, her expression
was that of simply listening, without comment or intention to
reply--an expression of which she was perfect mistress. Her hazel
eyes, set in dark lashes, her sensuous mouth, her pallid skin,
smooth and healthy, seemed the climax of allurement to which all
the lines of her delightful figure pointed. To another woman it
would have been obvious that she was amusing herself by trying to
draw him under the spell of physical attraction; a man would have
thought her a mere passive listener, perhaps one concealing
boredom, would have thought her movements to bring now this charm
and now that to his attention were simply movements of
restlessness, indications of an impatience difficult to control.
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