Also during three months I had one of them for my vis-a-vis at table, and the quantity of household bread, butter, and stewed fruit, she would habitually consume at "second dejeuner" was a real world's wonder--to be exceeded only by the fact of her actually pocketing slices she could not eat.

Here be truths--wholesome truths, too.
I knew another of these seraphs--the prettiest, or, at any rate, the least demure and hypocritical looking of the lot: she was seated by the daughter of an English peer, also an honest, though haughty-looking girl: both had entered in the suite of the British embassy.

She (_i.e._ my acquaintance) had a slight, pliant figure, not at all like the forms of the foreign damsels: her hair, too, was not close-braided, like a shell or a skull-cap of satin; it looked _like_ hair, and waved from her head, long, curled, and flowing.

She chatted away volubly, and seemed full of a light-headed sort of satisfaction with herself and her position.

I did not look at Dr.Bretton; but I knew that he, too, saw Ginevra Fanshawe: he had become so quiet, he answered so briefly his mother's remarks, he so often suppressed a sigh.