I remembered her letters. Her presence
here was proof of her unchanging regard. But was it something more? Was
there a hope throbbing beneath that calm sweet surface to which I did
not respond? For it often happens that the more direct a woman is, the
more in her feminine heart is she elusive.
Clean-built, clean-hearted, clean-eyed, of that clean complexion which
suggests the open air, Eleanor impressed you with a sense of bodily and
mental wholesomeness. Her taste in dress ran in the direction of plain
tailor-made gowns (I am told, by the way, that these can be fairly
expensive), and shrank instinctively from the frills and fripperies to
which daughters of Eve are notoriously addicted. She spoke in a clear
voice which some called hard, though I never found it so; she carried
herself proudly. Chaste in thought, frank in deed, she was a perfect
specimen of the highly bred, purely English type of woman who, looking
at facts squarely in the face, accepts them as facts and does not allow
her imagination to dally in any atmosphere wherein they may be invested.
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