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Updated: May 11, 2025
And looking down into her eyes he saw a gleam of pure mischief in them. "You little villain!" he said; and caught her wrists. "A lot you care whether I am offended!" She looked away from him, turning her profile. Her expression was inscrutable. After a silence he dropped her wrists with a vague laugh. "You should have let me alone," he said.
She had brown hair, very blue eyes and a delicious profile. She was tall and slender. She wore a blue serge suit. Her name was was Dorothy. She spread her palms upon the sheet and felt it cool and refreshing. "I'm afraid I've had a fever," she said slowly. "I think I have it still. I I have such nightmares when I sleep such nightmares." She shuddered.
Once more she relapsed into thought, while he sat contemplating her profile. She turned to him again with a tremulous smile. "But isn't a conviction that the good is predominant, that there is a purpose in the universe, a long way from the positive assertions in the Creeds?" she asked.
His wife had leaned back snugly under the fur rug and her profile in the moonlight was serene, neither happy nor unhappy, but absolutely complacent. He seemed to get a glimpse of their future, with her figure travelling away into a far distance, divergent from his. That was marriage.
He turned with a groan and sat down on a fallen log, supporting his chin with his hand. His profile looked grim and worn and old. He stared unseeingly at the ground. Chonita stood, still looking at him. The last act of her brother's life had been to lay the foundation of her lover's ruin; his death had completed it: all the South would rise did the slayer of an Iturbi y Moncada seek to rule it.
He turned away, a rapt expression on his poetic face, and Saunders moved back among the horses. He caught sight of Dolly's profile against the boughs of the arbor beyond her. Taking a step to one side, he brought Mostyn's face into view. Mostyn was now all attention, sitting erect and peering between two heads in front of him, staring at Dolly, his tense lips parted.
After the watchman was out of the way, five other minutes went to the cautious prying open of the window least likely to attract attention the window upon whose drawn shade the convincing profile had been projected.
Two candles were burning in the vast studio, and by their dim light she saw the shadow of the profile on the pillow. She thought of him as a man yearning for an ideal which he could never attain, and dying of his yearning in the end! And that so beautiful and so holy an aspiration should proceed from the common concubinage of a studio! Suddenly she decided that Ralph was not worthy of her.
"By God!" cried Colonel Smith, "she's human!" Still the Bewildering Strains of the music came to our ears, and yet we stood there unperceived, though in the full glare of the chandelier. The girl's face was presented in profile. It was exquisite in beauty, pale, delicate with a certain pleading sadness which stirred us to the heart.
The strange, weird effect of the sky seemed to have stolen into her eyes, making them shine with witch-like brilliancy, the varied radiance flashing about her brought into strong relief the pureness of her profile, drawing as with a fine pencil the outlines of her noble forehead, sweet mouth, and rounded chin.
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