Her mouth was
perhaps faulty in being too small, or, at least, her lips were too thin.
There was wanting from the mouth that expression of eager-speaking
truthfulness which full lips will often convey. Her teeth were without
flaw or blemish, even, small, white, and delicate; but perhaps they were
shown too often. Her nose was small, but struck many as the prettiest
feature of her face, so exquisite was the moulding of it, and so eloquent
and so graceful the slight inflations of the transparent nostrils. Her
eyes, in which she herself thought that the lustre of her beauty lay, were
blue and clear, bright as cerulean waters. They were long, large eyes, but
very dangerous. To those who knew how to read a face, there was danger
plainly written in them. Poor Sir Florian had not known. But, in truth,
the charm of her face did not lie in her eyes. This was felt by many even
who could not read the book fluently. They were too expressive, too loud
in their demands for attention, and they lacked tenderness. How few there
are among women, few perhaps also among men, who know that the sweetest,
softest, tenderest, truest eyes which a woman can carry in her head are
green in colour.
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