Of this kind was the beauty of Isabel Pereira. Totally free from the paltry prettiness of the fashion-plate model, entirely without those conventional graces so esteemed by the modiste, she was quite in the “grand style”--a rather large woman, and in spite of the supple grace of youth, showing evidence of muscular strength and physique. In keeping with her splendid proportions was her small and shapely head and her symmetrical face with its firm straight eyebrows, clear cut nose, short full mouth, and bold well-rounded chin. As I scanned her features--which I am afraid I did with rather more enthusiasm than good manners, and somewhat to our mutual embarrassment when I was detected--I could not perceive one detail that would not, in a more common-place setting, have been an object of admiration. In the matter of mere line and form she recalled those masterpieces that, in the Golden Age of art, came forth from the workshops of the sculptors of Hellas to delight and amaze mankind for all time. But in the living face there was that which even the genius of Pheidias could not give; the sparkle of the eye, the silken softness of hair that rippled back from the rounded forehead, and above all, the gorgeous colouring of the south, the warm glow like the blush of a ripe pomegranate. “My impression is,” said Miss Pereira, as she caught my eye for the fiftieth time, “that Mr. Englefield contemplates offering me for sale by private treaty to some well-to-do chiefs of his acquaintance. He has been engaged during the whole of dinner in constructing an attractive prospectus, and is now about to consider the question of title deeds.” “I am afraid I _have_ been staring a good deal,” I replied, considerably out of countenance, “but you must forgive me if you can. You don’t realise what a rare and curious creature you are. Do you know that I have only seen one white woman since I left England, and she was an elderly German missioner?” “And pray, Miss,” interposed Pereira, “how did you know that Mr. Englefield was staring at you?” “My dear father, I saw him with my own eyes,” exclaimed Miss Pereira, at which we all laughed, and I felt that the reproof was cancelled. “Well, well,” said the old man, “you need not stare one another out of countenance now, for I expect you will each see enough of the other for the next month or so. But perhaps you are going back with Bithery, Englefield? I hear he has sold out and is just filling up for the homeward voyage.” “He will be sailing for England in about a fortnight, but I am not going with him this voyage.” “Indeed! and what are you going to do? Is the store to be replenished?” “I shall have done with the store in a few days I expect, and then I shall be paid off.” “And after that?” “After that I have a scheme which I want to talk over with you when you have a little time to spare.”