Peter took one glance at her, and his heart missed three successive
beats, and then, to make up for lost time, began leaping like a
runaway race-horse. He could hardly believe what his eyes told him;
but his eyes insisted, his eyes knew; yes, his eyes had gazed for
hours and hours on end upon that hair like sunrise and those cheeks
like apples. The girl was Nell, the chambermaid of the Temple of
Jimjambo!
She had not looked Peter's way, so there was time for him to start
back and hide himself behind a pillar; there he stood, peering out
and watching her profile, still arguing with his eyes. It couldn't
be Nell; and yet it was! Nell transfigured, Nell translated to
Olympus, turned into a goddess with a pale grey band about her
middle, and a pale grey ribbon over each shoulder to hold it in
place! Nell reclining at ease and chatting vivaciously to a young
man with the face of a bulldog and the dinner-jacket of a magazine
advertisement!
Peter gazed and waited, while his heart went on misbehaving. Peter
learned in those few fearful minutes what real love is, a most
devastating force. Little Jennie was forgotten, Mrs. James, the
grass widow was forgotten, and Peter knew that he had never really
admired but one woman in the world, and that was Nell, the Irish
chambermaid of the Temple of Jimjambo.
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