was of the most delightful health. In this delightful health, in her
bountiful yet perfect physical eloquence, her attractiveness, as it
seemed to me, chiefly lay. For no one would ever have guessed her to
possess an emotional temperament. All that was outer was fascinating,
all that was inner suggested coldness. After experience assured me that
all who came to know her shared this estimate, even in those days when
every man on the ship was willing to be her slave. She had a compelling
atmosphere, a possessive presence; and yet her mind at this time was
unemotional--like Octavia, the wife of Mark Antony, "of a cold
conversation." She was striking and unusual in appearance, and yet well
within convention and "good form." Her dress was simply and modestly
worn, and had little touches of grace and taste which, I understand, many
ladies on board sought to imitate, when they recovered from the first
feeling of envy.

She was an example of splendid life. I cared to look at her as one would
dwell on the sleek beauty of a deer--as, indeed, I have many a time since
then, in India, watched a tigress asleep on her chain, claws hidden, wild
life latent but slumbering. I could have staked my life that Mrs.
Falchion was insensible to love or passion, and unimpeachable in the
broad scheme of right and wrong; imperious in requiring homage, incapable
of giving it. I noticed when she laughed, as she did once at table, that
her teeth were very white and small and square; and, like a schoolgirl,
she had a habit of clicking them together very lightly, but not
conspicuously, as if trying their quality. This suggested, however,
something a little cruel. Her appetite was very good. She was coolly
anxious about the amusements; she asked me if I could get her a list of
the passengers, said that she was never sea-sick, and took a languid
interest in the ladies present. Her glance at the men was keen at first,
then neutral.