lashes," and a
"fierce, proud, melancholy expression." [98] In the words of one of his
friends, he had the eye of an angel, the jaw of a devil. Also staying
at Boulogne was a young lady for whom Burton entertained a sincere
affection, and whom he would probably have married but for the poorness
of his outlook. "My dear Louisa," [99] as he called her, was a relative
of Miss Arundell, and hearing what had occurred, she did Burton and Miss
Arundell the kindness of formally introducing them to each other, Miss
Arundell never tried to attract Burton's attention--we have her word
for that--but wherever he went she went too; and she never lost an
opportunity of accidentally crossing his path. She considered sacred
a sash which she wore when dancing with him, and she remembered him
specially in her prayers. Henceforward, one devouring desire occupied
her mind. She wished--and praiseworthily--to be Burton's wife. To him,
on the other hand, she was but an ephemeral fancy--one of the hundred
and fifty women--his fair cousins in England and the softer and darker
beauties of France and Italy--to whom he had said tender nothings.
Later, when Miss Arundell saw him flirting with another girl, a certain
"Louise" [100] (not to be confused with "my dear Louisa"), she bridled
up, coloured to her brow-locks, called "Louise" "fast" and Louise's
mother "vulgar." Naturally they would be. [101] With "myosotis eyes,"
peachy cheeks and auburn hair, rolling over ivory shoulders [102],
"Louise" was progressing admirably, when, unfortunately for her, there
came in view a fleshy, vinous matron of elephantine proportions, whom
she addressed as "mother." The sight of this caricature of the "Thing
Divine," to use Burton's expression, and the thought that to this the
"Thing Divine" would some day come, instantly quenched his fires, and
when the mother tried to bring him to a decision, by inquiring his
intentions regarding her daughter, he horrified her by replying:
"Strictly dishonourable, madam." "Englishmen," he reflected, "who are
restricted to one wife, cannot be too careful." Miss Arundell was
also jealous of "My dear Louisa," though unwarrantably, for that lady
presently became Mrs. Segrave; but she and Burton long preserved for
each other a reminiscitory attachment, and we shall get several more
glimpses of her as this book proceeds. [103]

Isabel Arundell was herself somewhat cheered by the prophecy of a gipsy
of her acquaintance--one Hagar Burt