I am seven-and-twenty.

I might be your mother almost." To which Harry would reply, "Your ladyship might be the mother of all the cupids, I am sure.

You don't look twenty, on my word you do Dot!" Lady Maria looked any age you liked.

She was a fair beauty with a dazzling white and red complexion, an abundance of fair hair which flowed over her shoulders, and beautiful round arms which showed to uncommon advantage when she played at billiards with cousin Harry.

When she had to stretch across the table to make a stroke, that youth caught glimpses of a little ankle, a little clocked stocking, and a little black satin slipper with a little red heel, which filled him with unutterable rapture, and made him swear that there never was such a foot, ankle, clocked stocking, satin slipper in the world.