DOI article:
Scott, Samuel Mathewson: La Goya: a passion of the Peruvian desert
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26393#0111
By Samuel Mathewson Scott 107
the most perfect of human features. Like all her race, she had
teeth of ivory. Don’t think I am raving when I tell you that I
have never seen eyes in which so many emotions seemed to lurk.
They were dark, of course, in a setting of high arched brows and
long sweeping lashes, otherwise they defy description. Her fore-
head was low, but broader than is usual, though the waves of her
black glossy hair sent out a faint ripple or two of down upon her
temples.
There was an unmistakable superiority about her which her
companions seemed to recognise, for they approached her with
deference. Even her dress displayed more taste than that of the
women about her, yet she was arrayed according to the same
simple rules.
There was no use trying to be indifferent before such a
picture. I crossed over to where she was sitting and bowed
elaborately.
“ Good evening, Senorita,” and in the Spanish fashion, I told
her my name and assured her I was at her orders.
“Your servant, Gregoria Paz,” she replied with perfect com-
posure.
“Senorita Goya,” I said, using the pretty diminutive of her
name, “ I am sorry to confess that I do not dance, but will you
not permit me to sit here and talk to you ? ”
Most of the women would have been shy and awkward at first,
but she made way for me most courteously. A natural coquetry
gave grace to every movement she made ; yet she tempered it
with an air of dignity and reserve that put even me upon my best
behaviour. The sensation was certainly amusing. My attentions
pleased her, that was evident; but whenever I ventured upon
even conversational liberties she had a way of tossing back her
head and looking at me out of the corners of her great flashing
eyes,
the most perfect of human features. Like all her race, she had
teeth of ivory. Don’t think I am raving when I tell you that I
have never seen eyes in which so many emotions seemed to lurk.
They were dark, of course, in a setting of high arched brows and
long sweeping lashes, otherwise they defy description. Her fore-
head was low, but broader than is usual, though the waves of her
black glossy hair sent out a faint ripple or two of down upon her
temples.
There was an unmistakable superiority about her which her
companions seemed to recognise, for they approached her with
deference. Even her dress displayed more taste than that of the
women about her, yet she was arrayed according to the same
simple rules.
There was no use trying to be indifferent before such a
picture. I crossed over to where she was sitting and bowed
elaborately.
“ Good evening, Senorita,” and in the Spanish fashion, I told
her my name and assured her I was at her orders.
“Your servant, Gregoria Paz,” she replied with perfect com-
posure.
“Senorita Goya,” I said, using the pretty diminutive of her
name, “ I am sorry to confess that I do not dance, but will you
not permit me to sit here and talk to you ? ”
Most of the women would have been shy and awkward at first,
but she made way for me most courteously. A natural coquetry
gave grace to every movement she made ; yet she tempered it
with an air of dignity and reserve that put even me upon my best
behaviour. The sensation was certainly amusing. My attentions
pleased her, that was evident; but whenever I ventured upon
even conversational liberties she had a way of tossing back her
head and looking at me out of the corners of her great flashing
eyes,