"She is not beautiful," ran the Princess' comments. "Though she has a
superb air of breeding--that is from her poor mother--but her eyes are
her father's eyes. She is very sweet, and what a lovely skin--yes, and
eyelashes--and probably a figure when one can see beneath the furs--
tall and very slender in any case. Yes, I am far from disappointed--
far."
And Tamara thought:
"My godmother is a splendid looking lady! I like her bright brown eyes
and that white hair; and what a queer black mole upon her left cheek,
like an early eighteenth-century beauty spot. Where have I heard lately
of someone with a mole------?
"You fortunately see our city with a fresh mantle of snow, Tamara," the
Princess said, glancing from the automobile window as they sped along.
"It is not, alas! always so white as this."
It appeared wonderful to Tamara--so quite unlike anything she had
imagined. The tiny sleighs seemingly too ridiculously small for the
enormously padded coachman on the boxes--the good horses with their
sweeping tails--the unusual harness. And, above all, again the silence
caused by the snow.
Her first remark was almost a childish one of glee and appreciation,
and then she stopped short. What would her godmother think of such an
outburst! She must return to the contained self-repression of the time
before her visit to the Sphinx--surely in this strange land!
The Princess Ard?cheff's frank face was illuminated with a smile.
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