They were, of course, far too deeply engaged to recognise
insignificant little me, so that I could stare as thoroughly to my heart's
content as any of the butcher-boys and nursery-maids around me.
She was closely veiled--but not too closely to prevent my seeing her
magnificent lip and nostril curling with pride, resolve, rich tender
passion. Her glorious black-brown hair--the true "purple locks" which Homer
so often talks of--rolled down beneath her veil in great heavy ringlets;
and with her tall and rounded figure, and step as firm and queenly as
if she were going to a throne, she seemed to me the very ideal of those
magnificent Eastern Zubeydehs and Nourmahals, whom I used to dream of after
reading the "Arabian Nights."
As they entered the doorway, almost touching me, she looked round, as if
for some one. The dean whispered something in his gentle, stately way, and
she answered by one of those looks so intense, and yet so bright, so full
of unutterable depths of meaning and emotion, that, in spite of all my
antipathy, I felt an admiration akin to awe thrill through me, and gazed
after her so intently, that Lillian--Lillian herself--was at my side, and
almost passed me before I was aware of it.
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