rs. He gave me a cordial welcome. There is
something delightfully easy in his manners,--and in Miss Blunt's, too,
for that matter. She received me very nicely. The late Mrs. Blunt was
probably a well-bred woman. As for Miss Blunt's being thirty, she is
about twenty-four; She wore a fresh white dress, with a violet ribbon at
her neck, and a rosebud in her button-hole,--or whatever corresponds
thereto on the feminine bosom. I thought I discerned in this costume a
vague intention of courtesy, of deference, of celebrating my arrival. I
don't believe Miss Blunt wears white muslin every day. She shook hands
with me, and made me a very frank little speech about her hospitality.
"We have never had any inmates before," said she; "and we are
consequently new to the business. I don't know what you expect. I hope
you don't expect a great deal. You must ask for anything you want. If we
can give it, we shall be very glad to do so; if we can't, I give you
warning that we shall refuse outright." Bravo, Miss Blunt! The best of
it is, that she is decidedly beautiful,--and in the grand manner: tall,
and rather plump. What is the orthodox description of a pretty
girl?--white and red? Miss Blunt is not a pretty girl, she is a handsome
woman. She leaves an impression of black and red; that is, she is a
florid brunette. She has a great deal of wavy black hair, which
encircles her head like a dusky glory, a smoky halo. Her eyebrows, too,
are black, but her eyes themselves are of a rich blue gray, the color of
those slate-cliffs which I saw yesterday, weltering under the tide. Her
mouth, however, is her strong point. It is very large, and contains the
finest row of teeth in all this weary world. Her smile is eminently
intelligent. Her chin is full, and somewhat heavy. All this is a
tolerable catalogue, but no picture. I have been tormenting my brain to
discover whether it was her coloring or her form that impressed me most.
Fruitless speculation! Seriously, I think it was neither; it was her
movement. She walks a queen. It was the conscious poise of her head, the
unconscious "hang" of her arms, the careless grace and dignity with
which she lingered along the garden-path, smelling a red red rose! She
has very little to say, apparently; but when she speaks, it is to the
point, and if the point suggests it, with a very sweet smile. Indeed, if
she is not talkative, it is not from timidity. Is it from indifference?
Time will elucidate this, as well as