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SUSAN'S eyes were blue wells of promises unfulfilled; Susan's mouth was a scarlet bow of hope unattainable ; Susan's hair was an alluring trap, baited with sunlight; Susan's nose was retrousse. Susan was the ever-receding rainbow, the mocking will-o'-the-wisp, intangible as the golden mist of dawn, irrepressible as the perfume of a rose, irresistible as the song of the siren. She was unexpectedness in person, a quirk in the accepted order of things, elusive as fame, fleeting as moonbeams.
Susan had a larger collection of unhappy hearts pinned up in the specimen cabinet of her affections than any other woman in her set. Even her enemies admitted this, adding thereto some spiteful, venomous thing which was intended to blunt the point but didn't. Not that she had escaped unscathed when the city of Eros fell, for she had not. She had been ...
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