They hastily fled at her appearance, but the
idea of the hat was also conveyed to her own fancy by their unwonted
behavior. She looked up an instant at the queer, faded article hanging
among its betters, and with a reminiscence of childhood, and of having
held it in her hand, there descended along the intervening years upon
the association, the odor of a rose and the impression of a pair of
bold, startled eyes gazing into hers. She opened the library door, and
the same eyes were looking up from her father's easy-chair.
"Mr. Milburn, I believe?" said Vesta, walking to the visitor, and
extending her hand with native sweetness.
He arose and bowed, and hardly saw the hand in the earnest look he gave
her, as if she had surprised him, and he did not know how to express his
bashfulness. She did not withdraw the hand till he took it, and then he
did not let it go. His strong, rather than bold, look, continuing, she
dropped her eyes to the hand that mildly held her own, and then she
observed, all calm as she was, that his hand was a gentleman's, its
fingers long and almost delicate, the texture white, the palm warm, and,
as it seemed to her, of something like a brotherly pressure, respectful
and gentle too.
As he did not speak immediately, Vesta returned to his face, far less
inviting, but peculiar--the black hair straight, the cheek-bones high,
no real beard upon him anywhere, the shape of the face broad and
powerful, and the chops long, while the yellowish-brown eyes, wide open
and intense, answered to the open, almost observant nostrils at the end
of his straight, fine nose.
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