Mr. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Her head swam. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. “I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes.
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