Against the advice of the Major, who had known and detested Gabriel Mostyn, she called on Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and left her card, with the hope that the visit would be returned. On the evening of the day she had done this, she was waiting for dinner in the little drawing-room, and Major Griff, in evening dress, was lounging against the mantelpiece with a glass of sherry at his elbow, listening to her remarks. A handsome woman was Mrs. Veilsturm, as she leaned back in a deep arm-chair, fanning herself slowly with all the grace and languor of a Creole. A dusky skin, masses of coal-black hair, with a suspicion of frizziness, betraying the African blood, large black eyes, a sensual, full-lipped mouth, and the figure of a Juno, she was a wonderfully handsome woman in a full-blooded way. Her arms and neck were beautifully proportioned, and dressed as she was, with the negro's love for bright tints, in a lemon-coloured dress, with great masses of crimson flowers at her breast and in her hair, she looked a beautiful imperious creature, with a touch of the treacherous grace of the tiger in the indolent repose of her lithe limbs. A painter would have admired her voluptuous form, a poet would have raved on the dusky beauty of her face, with the sombre light in the sleepy eyes; but no man who had any instinct of self-preservation would have trusted this feline loveliness, so suggestive of treachery and craft. Some highly imaginative man averred that Mrs. Veilsturm put him in mind of a snake, and certainly there was more than a resemblance to a serpent in the sinuous grace of her evil beauty.