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He was beautiful, as he stood there with the evening sun shining upon his blonde hair, and his enthusiastic countenance turned upward. There was in his whole personality and in his words something transporting and convincing, something that could not fail to work an impression that is to say, if anybody but the teacher had seen and heard him.
Miss Midland seemed to find in the statement a great deal of material for meditation, for after an "Ah!" which might mean anything, she sat down on the other side of the tree, leaning her blonde head against its trunk and staring up into the thick green branches. Somewhere near them in an early-flowering yellow shrub a bee droned softly.
Of the Blonde, you know the present Lord Byron is commander the name strikes the ear continually new fame, new associations; reverting, too, to the old Commodore Byron's sort of fame. How curious, how fleeting "this life in other's breath!"
They do better in bright colors. It is singular, isn't it? You, now, my dear, may wear black with impunity; and since you are called on in the mysterious dispensation of Providence to mourn, you ought at least to be grateful that you are a brunette. If you were a blonde, I really do not know what would ever become of you. Now, I am a blonde but in spite of that I have been called on to mourn.
"Oh, Marie says she's a blonde. The 'raving beauty' sort. I detest that kind. I know she's vain." "Yes, she is. I hate to speak against another girl, but I know that Patty Fairfield, and she IS vain." "Well, never mind about Patty Fairfield She doesn't interest me a bit. But what about you? Will you come to the party? Oh, DO-ee, DO- ee, now, as my old Scotch nurse used to say.
"Don't make yourself unpleasant, George," said his mother gently. Miss Vance smiled icily, and as the girls came near again, stopped them and stood talking to Mlle. Arpent with an aggressive show of familiarity. "Why do you worry Clara?" said Mrs. Waldeaux. "She knows she has made a mistake. What do you think of that little blonde girl?" she asked presently, watching him anxiously.
On this particular afternoon, although it already was after five o'clock, Mrs. Vance still wore a short dressing sack, open at the throat, and heavy with somewhat soiled lace. But her blonde hair was freshly "marcelled," and her nails pink and shining. In the absence of Vera, she was making a surreptitious and guilty use of the telephone.
For, a "silly ass" albeit an unusually handsome one with his fair, curling hair and his big blonde moustache he certainly was: a lisping, "ha-ha-ing" "don't-cher-know-ing" silly ass, whom the presence of ladies seemed to cover with confusion and drive into a very panic of shy embarrassment. "Dios! but he is handsome, this big, fair lieutenant!" whispered the Spaniard to young Burnham-Seaforth.
"The kind of sweet blonde, I said to myself, that would mix a man up in a duel before he knew where he was." "She must be interesting." "She was always clever, and she knows enough to play a straight game and when to propitiate. I'll bet a five she tells Henderson whom to be good to when the chance offers." "Then her influence on him is good?"
"What a stunner your blonde cousin is, Ned! Seems to me you might have prepared a fellow. I almost had a spell when she came to greet me." Now, Ned White never relished hearing other fellows admire Dorothy. It was a strange fact that while he knew Dorothy to be pretty he was never prepared to hear others say so. Nat picked up the end of Roland's remark.
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