"Not the gay little adventuress, then?" was his instant and internal
comment. "Better contrived still. The inspired prophetess. Obviously
not the daughter of this man at all. Hired."

But when Natalie Lind came forward to receive him, he was more than
surprised; he was almost abashed. During a second or two of wonder and
involuntary admiration, he was startled out of his critical attitude
altogether. For this tall and striking figure was in reality that of a
young girl of eighteen or nineteen, who had the beautifully formed bust,
the slender waist, and the noble carriage that even young Hungarian
girls frequently have. Perhaps the face, with its intellectual forehead
and the proud and firmly cut mouth, was a trifle too calm and
self-reliant for a young girl: but all the softness of expression that
was wanted, all the gentle and gracious timidity that we associate with
maidenhood, lay in the large, and dark, and lustrous eyes. When, by
accident, she turned aside, and he saw the outline of that clear,
olive-complexioned face, only broken by the outward curve of the long
black lashes, he had to confess to himself that, adventuress or no
adventuress, prophetess or no prophetess, Natalie Lind was possessed of
about the most beautiful profile he had ever beheld, while she had the
air and the bearing of a queen.

Her father and he talked of the various trifling things of the moment;
but what he was chiefly thinking of was the singular calm and
self-possession of this young girl. When she spoke, her dark, soft eyes
regarded him without fear. Her manner was simple and natural to the last
degree; perhaps with the least touch added of maidenly reserve. He was
forced even to admire the simplicity of her dress--cream or canary white
it was, with a bit of white fur round the neck and round the tight