The mouth is the centre of woman's beauty. To the lips the glance is
attracted the moment she approaches, and their shape remains in the
memory longest. Curve, colour, and substance are the three essentials
of the lips, but these are nothing without mobility, the soul of the
mouth. If neither sculpture, nor the palette with its varied resources,
can convey the spell of perfect lips, how can it be done in black
letters of ink only? Nothing is so difficult, nothing so beautiful.
There are lips which have an elongated curve (of the upper one), ending
with a slight curl, like a ringlet at the end of a tress, like those
tiny wavelets on a level sand which float in before the tide, or like a
frond of fern unrolling. In this curl there lurks a smile, so that she
can scarcely open her mouth without a laugh, or the look of one. These
upper lips are drawn with parallel lines, the verge is defined by two
lines near together, enclosing the narrowest space possible, which is
ever so faintly less coloured than the substance of the lip. This makes
the mouth appear larger than it really is; the bow, too, is more
flattened than in the pure Greek lip. It is beautiful, but not perfect,
tempting, mischievous, not retiring, and belongs to a woman who is
never long alone. To describe it first is natural, because this mouth
is itself the face, and the rest of the features are grouped to it. If
you think of her you think of her mouth only--the face appears as
memory acts, but the mouth is distinct, the remainder uncertain. She
laughs and the curl runs upwards, so that you must laugh too, you
cannot help it. Had the curl gone downwards, as with habitually
melancholy people, you might have withstood her smile. The room is
never dull where she is, for there is a distinct character in it--a
woman--and not a mere living creature, and it is noticeable that if
there are five or six or more present, somehow the conversation centres
round her.
There was a lady I knew who had lips like these. Of the kind they were
perfect. Though she was barely fourteen she was _the_ woman of that
circle by the magnetism of her mouth. When we all met together in the
evening all that went on in some way or other centred about her. By
consent the choice of what game should be played was left to her to
decide. She was asked if it was not time for some one to sing, and the
very mistress of the household referred to her whether we should have
another round or go in to supper. Of course, she always decided as she
supposed the hostess wished. At supper, if there was a delicacy on the
table it was invariably offered to her. The eagerness of the elderly
gentlemen, who presumed on their grey locks and conventional
harmlessness to press their attentions upon her, showed who was the
most attractive person in the room. Younger men feel a certain reserve,
and do not reveal their inclinations before a crowd, but the harmless
old gentleman makes no secret of his admiration. She managed them all,
old and young, with unconscious tact, and never left the ranks of the
other ladies as a crude flirt would have done. This tact and way of
modestly holding back when so many would have pushed her too much to
the front retained for her the good word of her own sex. If a dance was
proposed it was left to her to say yes or no, and if it was not too
late the answer was usually in the affirmative. So in the morning,
should we make an excursion to some view or pleasant wood, all eyes
rested upon her, and if she thought it fine enough away we went.
Her features were rather fine, but not especially so; her complexion a
little dusky, eyes grey, and dark hair; her figure moderately tall,
slender but shapely. She was always dressed well; a certain taste
marked her in everything. Upon introduction no one would have thought
anything of her; they would have said, "insignificant--plain;" in half
an hour, "different to most girls;" in an hour, "extremely pleasant;"
in a day, "a singularly attractive girl;" and so on, till her empire
was established. It was not the features--it was the mouth, the curling
lips, the vivacity and life that sparkled in them. There is wine,
deep-coloured, strong, but smooth at the surface. There is champagne
with its richness continually rushing to the rim. Her lips flowed with
champagne. It requires a clever man indeed to judge of men; now how
could so young and inexperienced a creature distinguish the best from
so many suitors?