comparisons in his
mind, and certain calculations; and he thought of his present home,
and of his sister, and of his future prospects as they were concerned
with the old place at which he was now staying; and he portrayed to
himself, in his mind, Clara's head and face and figure and feet;--and
he resolved that she should be his wife. He had never seen a girl who
seemed to suit him so well. Though he had only been with her for a
day, he swore to himself that he knew he could love her. Nay;--he
swore to himself that he did love her. Then,--when he had quite made
up his mind, he tumbled into his bed and was asleep in five minutes.

Miss Amedroz was a handsome young woman, tall, well-made, active, and
full of health. She carried herself as though she thought her limbs
were made for use, and not simply for ease upon a sofa. Her head and
neck stood well upon her shoulders, and her waist showed none of
those waspish proportions of which ladies used to be more proud than
I believe them to be now, in their more advanced state of knowledge
and taste. There was much about her in which she was like her cousin,
as though the blood they had in common between them had given to both
the same proportions and the same comeliness. Her hair was of a dark
brown colour, as was his. Her eyes were somewhat darker than his,
and perhaps not so full of constant movement; but they were equally
bright, and possessed that quick power of expressing tenderness which
belonged to them. Her nose was more finely cut, as was also her chin,
and the oval of her face; but she had the same large expressive
mouth, and the same perfection of ivory-white teeth. As has been said
before, Clara Amedroz, who was now nearly twenty-six years of age,
was not a young-looking young woman. To the eyes of many men that
would have been her fault; but in the eyes of Belton it was no fault.
He had not made himself fastidious as to women by much consort with
them, and he was disposed to think that she who was to become his
wife had better be something more than a girl not long since taken
out of the nursery. He was well to do in the world, and could
send his wife out in her carriage, with all becoming bravery of
appurtenances. And he would do so, too, when he should have a wife.
But still he would look to his wife to be a useful partner to him.
She should be a woman not above agricultural solicitude, or too proud
to have a care for her cows. Clara, he was sure, had no false pri