ot complain; neither,
as is much more common, did she boast that she was no beauty. Her
sister's loveliness was very dear to her, and of that she would
sometimes break out into enthusiastic words. But of herself,
externally, she said nothing. Her gifts, if she had any, were of
another sort; and she was by no means willing to think of herself
as one unendowed with gifts. She was clever, and knew herself to be
clever. She could read, and understood what she read. She saw the
difference between right and wrong, and believed that she saw it
clearly. She was not diffident of herself, and certainly was not
unhappy. She had a strong religious faith, and knew how to supplement
the sometimes failing happiness of this world, by trusting in the
happiness of the next. Were it not for her extreme anxiety in
reference to her father, Patience Underwood would have been a happy
woman.

Clarissa, the younger, was a beauty. The fact that she was a beauty
was acknowledged by all who knew her, and was well known to herself.
It was a fact as to which there had never been a doubt since she was
turned fifteen. She was somewhat shorter than her sister, and less
slender. She was darker in complexion, and her hair, which was rich
in colour as brown hair can be, was lustrous, silky, and luxuriant.
She wore it now, indeed, according to the fashion of the day, with a
chignon on her head; but beneath that there were curls which escaped,
and over her forehead it was clipped short, and was wavy, and
impertinent,--as is also the fashion of the day. Such as it was, she
so wore it that a man could hardly wish it to be otherwise. Her eyes,
unlike those of her father and sister, were blue; and in the whole
contour of her features there was nothing resembling theirs. The
upper lip was short, and the chin was short and dimpled. There was
a dimple on one cheek too, a charm so much more maddening than when
it is to be seen on both sides alike. Her nose was perfect;--not
Grecian, nor Roman, nor Egyptian,--but simply English, only just not
retrousse. There were those who said her mouth was a thought too
wide, and her teeth too perfect,--but they were of that class of
critics to whom it is a necessity to cavil rather than to kiss. Added
to all this there was a childishness of manner about her of which,
though she herself was somewhat ashamed, all others were enamoured.
It was not the childishness of very youthful years,--for she had
already reached the mature ag