But who was Gerty?
Gerty MacDowell who was seated near her companions, lost in
thought, gazing far away into the distance was, in very truth, as fair a
specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see. She was
pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as folks often said, she
was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Her figure was slight and graceful,
inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had been taking of
late had done her a world of good much better than the Widow Welch's
female pills and she was much better of those discharges she used to get
and that tired feeling. The waxen pallor of her face was almost spiritual
in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupid's
bow, Greekly perfect. Her hands were of finely veined alabaster
with tapering fingers and as white as lemonjuice and queen of ointments
could make them though it was not true that she used to wear kid gloves
in bed or take a milk footbath either. Bertha Supple told that once
to Edy Boardman, a deliberate lie, when she was black out at daggers
drawn with Gerty (the girl chums had of course their little tiffs
from time to time like the rest of mortals) and she told her not to
let on whatever she did that it was her that told her or she'd never
speak to her again. No. Honour where honour is due. There was an
innate refinement, a languid queenly HAUTEUR about Gerty which
was unmistakably evidenced in her delicate hands and higharched instep.
Had kind fate but willed her to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in
her own right and had she only received the benefit of a good education
Gerty MacDowell might easily have held her own beside any lady in the
land and have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her brow and
patrician suitors at her feet vying with one another to pay their devoirs
to her. Mayhap it was this, the love that might have been, that lent to
her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look, tense with suppressed meaning,
that imparted a strange yearning tendency to the beautiful eyes, a charm
few could resist. Why have women such eyes of witchery? Gerty's were of
the bluest Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive
brows. Time was when those brows were not so silkily seductive. It was
Madame Vera Verity, directress of the Woman Beautiful page of the Princess
Novelette, who had first advised her to try eyebrowleine which gave that
haunting expression to the eyes, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and
she had never regretted it. Then there was blushing scientifically cured
and how to be tall increase your height and you have a beautiful face but
your nose? That would suit Mrs Dignam because she had a button one. But
Gerty's crowning glory was her wealth of wonderful hair. It was dark brown
with a natural wave in it. She had cut it that very morning on account
of the new moon and it nestled about her pretty head in a profusion of
luxuriant clusters and pared her nails too, Thursday for wealth. And just
now at Edy's words as a telltale flush, delicate as the faintest
rosebloom, crept into her cheeks she looked so lovely in her sweet girlish
shyness that of a surety God's fair land of Ireland did not hold
her equal.
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