Part 2 She found the younger generation of the Widgetts engaged in languid reminiscences, and all, as they expressed it, a “bit decayed. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. She got hysterical. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. Two-and-twenty! I can’t imagine what your parents can be thinking about to let you get into these scrapes. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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