Say not there is no language of the eyes, no speech in the composure of the features.

Yet such is the Sphinx power given to woman, that now I saw, as though it were a thing tangible, a veil drawn across her eyes, across her face, between her soul and mine.
Elisabeth drew herself up straight, her chin high, her eyes level, her lips just parted for a faint salutation in the conventions of the morning.
"How do you do ?" she remarked.

Her voice was all cool white enamel.

Then that veil dropped down between us.
She was there somewhere, but I could not see her clearly now.

It was not her voice.