"
She was a native of the mainland to whose credit it must be said that
she did not pretend to be anything but what she was--an exuberant,
gluttonous dame, with volcanic eyes, heavy golden bracelets, the
soupcon of a moustache, and arms as thick as other people's thighs; an
altogether impossible person. Nobody but a man of genuine refinement,
scrupulous rectitude, delicate sense of honour and kindly disposition
would have risked being seen in the same street with such a horror;
nobody but a real gentleman could have fallen in love with her. Mr.
Eames ran after her like a dog. He made a perfect ass of himself,
heedless of what anybody though or said of him. The men declared he was
going mad--breaking up--sickening for an attack of G.P. "Miracles will
never cease," charitably observed the Duchess. Alone of all his lady
acquaintances, Madame Steynlin liked him all the better for this
gaucherie. She was a true woman-friend of all lovers; she knew the
human heart and its queer little vagaries. She received the couple with
open arms and entertained them royally, after her manner; gave them a
kind of social status.
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