hovering over the pots of fuchsias and mignonette; but the first time I
beheld her full length I surrendered to her proportions. They fix her
in my mind, as great beauty, great intelligence, quickness of wit
or kindness of heart might have made some her other woman equally
memorable.

With her it was form and size. It was her physical personality that had
this imposing charm. She might have been witty, intelligent, and kind to
an exceptional degree. I don't know, and this is not to the point. All
I know is that she was built on a magnificent scale. Built is the only
word. She was constructed, she was erected, as it were, with a regal
lavishness. It staggered you to see this reckless expenditure of
material upon a chit of a girl. She was youthful and also perfectly
mature, as though she had been some fortunate immortal. She was heavy
too, perhaps, but that's nothing. It only added to that notion of
permanence. She was barely nineteen. But such shoulders! Such round
arms! Such a shadowing forth of mighty limbs when with three long
strides she pounced across the deck upon the overturned Nicholas--it's
perfectly indescribable! She seemed a good, quiet girl, vigilant as
to Lena's needs, Gustav's tumbles, the state of Carl's dear little
nose--conscientious, hardworking, and all that. But what magnificent
hair she had! Abundant, long, thick, of a tawny colour. It had the sheen
of precious metals. She wore it plaited tightly into one single tress
hanging girlishly down her back and its end reached down to her waist.
The massiveness of it surprised you. On my word it reminded one of a
club. Her face was big, comely, of an unruffled expression. She had a
good complexion, and her blue eyes were so pale that she appeared to
look at the world with the empty white candour of a statue. You could
not call her good-looking. It was something much more impressive.
The simplicity of her apparel, the opulence of her form, her imposing