One does not look in Zanzibar for ladies with a Mayfair accent unaccompanied by menfolk able to protect them.

Yet an indubitable Englishwoman, expensively if carelessly dressed, came to the head of the stairs and stood beside Yerkes looking down at the rest of us with a sort of well bred, rather tolerant scorn.
"Am I right in believing this is Lord Montdidier ?" she asked, pronouncing the word as it should be--Mundidger.
She had been very beautiful.

She still was handsome in a hard-lipped, bold way, with abundant raven hair and a complexion that would have been no worse for a touch of rouge.

She seemed to scorn all the conventional refinements, though.

Her lacy white dress, open at the neck, was creased and not too clean, but she wore in her bosom one great jewel like a ruby, set in brilliants, that gave the lie to poverty provided the gems were real.