girl; nobody can
tell exactly why. It is, I suppose, because her eyes speak to
you whether her tongue does or not. It is because she unites
the most contrary extremes, and leaves you to puzzle over
them; because she sails into the room, with her little stately
manner, and salutes you with a formal curtsey; and then, under
all this air of dignity, you discover the very
merriest-hearted little romp that ever existed. You must be
fond of her. As refined in mind and in manner as the most
fastidious could require, she has, at the same time, the
humour, the native fun of her country--it sparkles in her
eyes--it bubbles in her laugh. She is a little patriot, too:
when Ireland is mentioned, you will see her cheek flush, and
her spirit rise. It is the only strong feeling she seems to
have; for, otherwise, like the jolly miller of Dee, she cares
for nobody, and if others care for her, she does not appear to
thank them for it. I have often heard men say, how in love they
would be with Rosa Moore, if it were not for this thankless,
hopeless, remorseless indifference. Now, I think this is a
mistake; for I believe her great charm really lies in that
very recklessness of what others think of her, or feel for her,
in the eager, child-like impetuosity with which she seeks
amusement, and in the perfect self-possession with which she
treats everything and everybody."

"And Mrs. Ernsley, Henry; what do you say of her?"

"Mrs. Ernsley? It is much more difficult to say what she is,
than what she is not; so allow me to describe her in
negatives. She is _not_ handsome, for her features are bad,
and her complexion is sallow. She is not plain, for she has
pretty eyes, pretty hair, a pretty smile, and a pretty figure.
She is not natural, for her part in society is pre-arranged
and continually studied. She is not affected, for nobody talks
to you with more earnestness, or more of natural impulse and
spontaneousness; but still, she is always listening to
herself. She is the person who is attracting, who is charming
you, natural to a fault, unguarded to excess (she says to
herself). Then, she is not a bad sort of woman; she has a
great regard for her husband, and takes great pains with her
little girls; but she is always playing with edged tools; she
is always lingering on the line of demarcation. She is
eternally discussing who are in love with her--though she is
such a very good sort of a woman--and who would be in love
with her if she was