"
She said nothing, but went on snipping a red rose here, a white one
there. She wore gloves several sizes too large for her, so I judged
that her hands were small and tender, perhaps white. And there was a
grace in her movements, dispite the ungainly dress and shoes, which
suggested a more intimate knowledge of velvets and silks than of
calico. In my mind's eye I placed her at the side of Phyllis. Phyllis
reminded me of a Venus whom Nature had whimsically left unfinished.
Then she had turned from Venus to Diana, and Gretchen became evolved: a
Diana, slim and willowy. A sculptor would have said that Phyllis might
have been a goddess, and Gretchen a wood nymph, had not Nature suddenly
changed her plans. What I admired in Phyllis was her imperfect
beauties. What I admired in Gretchen was her beautiful perfections.
And they were so alike and yet so different. Have you ever seen a body
of fresh water, ruffled by a sudden gust of wind, the cool blue-green
tint which follows? Then you have seen the color of Gretchen's eyes.
Have you ever seen ripe wheat in a sun-shower? Then you have seen the
color of Gretchen's hair.
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