The Visionary Woman of the camp-fire! And she had let Colin McKeith
believe that Bridget O'Hara was the embodiment of his Ideal--height
five foot seven at the least: weight ten stone or more: smooth-parted,
Greek-coiled hair: a cross between a goddess and a Madonna--that was
Colin's Ideal--Good Heavens! What did he now behold? A very little
woman. One of the snippets he despised. Not an ounce of the traditional
dignity about her. Lady Bridget gave the impression of an
old-fashioned, precocious child, dressed up in a picture frock of soft
shining white stuff, hanging on a straight slender form and gathered
into a girdle at the waist, with a wisp of old lace flung carelessly
over the slight shoulders. She stood for a moment or two on the half
landing, then, as the aide-de-camp murmured in the Governor's ear at
the foot of the stairs, she came close to the bannisters and looked
down amusedly at the party in the hall. Her face was a little poked
forward--a small oval face, pale except for the redness of a rather
thin-lipped mouth--the upper lip like a scarlet bow--and the
brilliance of the eyes, deep-set under finely-drawn brows and with
thick lashes, golden-brown, and curling up at the tips. Peculiar eyes:
Mrs Gildea, who knew them well, never could decide their exact colour.
The nose was a delicate aquiline, the chin pointed. An untidy mass of
wavy chestnut hair stuck out in uneven puffs and insubordinate curls,
all round the small head. At this moment Mrs Gildea remembered a
suggestive charm sent to Lady Bridget by her cousin, Chris Gaverick,
one Christmas, of a miniature gold curry-comb.

It was a vivid brief impression, for the girl moved on immediately, but
Joan noticed that Colin McKeith had arrested Lady Bridget's wandering
gaze. That was not surprising, for his great height and the
distinctiveness of his appearance, made him more likely than anyone
else present to attract her attention. Then, as she caught sight of