The last time I saw her----
It was a few evenings ago, and she was crossing the sidewalk
before her house toward the big limousine that was to take her
to the theater. She is still young; she looked even younger
than she is. Her dress had the same exquisite quality that
made her the talk of Paris in the days of her sojourn there.
But it is not her dress that most interests me, nor the luxury
and perfection of all her surroundings. It is not even her
beauty--that is, the whole of her beauty.
Everything and every being that is individual in appearance
has some one quality, trait, characteristic, which stands out
above all the rest to make a climax of interest and charm.
With the rose it is its perfume; with the bird, perhaps the
scarlet or snowy feathers upon its breast. Among human beings
who have the rare divine dower of clear individuality the
crown and cap of distinction differs. In her--for me, at
least--the consummate fascination is not in her eyes, though I
am moved by the soft glory of their light, nor in the lovely
oval contour of her sweet, healthily pallid face. No, it is
in her mouth--sensitive, strong yet gentle, suggestive of all
the passion and suffering and striving that have built up her
life. Her mouth--the curve of it--I think it is, that sends
from time to time the mysterious thrill through her audiences.
And I imagine those who know her best look always first at
those strangely pale lips, curved in a way that suggests
bitterness melting into sympathy, sadness changing into
mirth--a way that seems to say: "I have suffered--but, see!
I have stood fast!"
Can a life teach any deeper lesson, give any higher inspiration?
As I was saying, the last time I saw her she was about to
enter her automobile.
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