She was about twenty-two years old, and was certainly not at Carlsbad for any reasons of cure, for her glowing complexion told a tale of radiant health.
Her white clothes were absolutely perfect in their simplicity, and so was her air of unconcern and indifference.

"The enigma" her friends often called her.

She seemed so frank and simple, and no one ever got beyond the wall of what she was really thinking--what did she do with her life?
It seemed ridiculous that any one so rich and attractive and young should care to pass long periods of time at a wild spot near Finisterre, in an old chateau perched upon the rocks, completely alone but for an elderly female companion.
There was, of course, some hidden tragedy about her husband--who was a raging lunatic or an inebriate shut up somewhere--perhaps there! They had had to part at once--he had gone mad on the wedding journey, some believed, but others said this was not at all the case, and that she had married an Indian chief and then parted from him immediately in America--finding out the horror of being wedded to a savage.

No one knew anything for a fact, only that when she did come into the civilized world, it was always with the Princess Torniloni and her father, who, if they knew the truth of Mrs.Howard's story, never gave it away.

Men swarmed around her, but she appeared completely unconcerned and friendly with them all, and not even the most envious of the other Americans who were trying to climb into Princess Torniloni's exclusive society had ever been able to make up any scandals about her.
"I have had such an enchanting walk, Clowdy, dear," the slim young woman said as she sat down in a basket-chair near Mr.Cloudwater.