The noble bust, the sloping shoulders, the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--but her face?
Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride.

It was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; her laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and haughty lip.
Genius is said to be self-conscious.

I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram was a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-conscious indeed.

She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs.
Dent.

It seemed Mrs.Dent had not studied that science: though, as she said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary with an air.