She set the plate down, and gravely shook hands with me, saying she had concluded to live entirely on toast, but supposed I would eat all sorts of food, as usual.

She had grown tall; her face was still long and narrow, but prettier, and her large, dark eyes had a slight cast, which gave her face an indescribable expression.

Distant, indifferent, and speculative as the eyes were, a ray of fire shot into them occasionally, which made her gaze powerful and concentrated.

I was within a month of sixteen, and Veronica was in her thirteenth year; but she looked as old as I did.
She carefully prepared her toast with milk and butter, and ate it in silence.

The plenty around me, the ease and independence, gave me a delightful sense of comfort.