heir
gaze, of a flinty blue, with dark lashes; her nose firm, her lips
fullish, firm when joined; her shape straight, moderately flexible.
But she had no softness; she could admire herself in my presence; she
claimed possession of me openly, and at the same time openly provoked
a siege from the remainder of my sex: she was not maidenly. She caught
imagination by the sleeve, and shut it between square whitewashed walls.
Heriot thought her not only handsome, but comparable to Mrs. William
Bulsted, our Julia Rippenger of old. At his meeting with Julia, her
delicious loss of colour made her seem to me one of the loveliest women
on earth. Janet never lost colour, rarely blushed; she touched neither
nerve nor fancy.

'You want a rousing coquette,' said Heriot; 'you won't be happy till you
've been racked by that nice instrument of torture, and the fair Bulsted
will do it for you if you like. You don't want a snake or a common
serpent, you want a Python.'

I wanted bloom and mystery, a woman shifting like the light with
evening and night and dawn, and sudden fire. Janet was bald to the heart
inhabiting me then, as if quite shaven. She could speak her affectionate
mind as plain as print, and it was dull print facing me, not the arches
of the sunset. Julia had only to lisp, 'my husband,' to startle and
agitate me beyond expression. She said simple things--'I slept well last
night,' or 'I dreamed,' or 'I shivered,' and plunged me headlong down
impenetrable forests. The mould of her mouth to a reluctant 'No,' and
her almost invariable drawing in of her breath with a 'Yes,' surcharged
the everyday monosyllables with meanings of life and death. At last
I was reduced to tell her, seeing that she reproached my coldness for
Janet, how much I wished Janet resembled her. Her Irish eyes lightened:
'Me! Harry'; then they shadowed: 'She is worth ten of me.' Such pathetic
humility tempted me to exalt her supremely.

I talked like a boy, feeling like a man: she behaved like a woman,
blushing like a girl.

'Julia! I can never call you Mrs. Bulsted.'

'You have an affection for my husband, have you not, Harry?'

Of a season when this was adorable language to me, the indication
is sufficient. Riding out perfectly crazed by it, I met Kiomi, and
transferred my emotions. The squire had paid her people an annual sum to
keep away from our neighbourhood, while there was a chance of my taking
to gipsy life. They had come back to their old campin