She shut the door, and pushed aside the table which held the Bible, the better to show herself to herself in the looking-glass.
Eliza faced herself.

She turned and looked at herself over one shoulder; then she looked over the other shoulder.

As she did so, the curving column of her white neck was a thing a painter might have desired to look at, had he been able to take his eyes from the changeful sheen on her glossy red hair.

But there was no painter there, and Eliza was looking at the gown.

She walked to the end of the room, looking backward over her shoulder.