Mrs.Horniblow caught herself growing lyrical--thinking of stars, of twin mountain lakes, the blue-purple of ocean.

A girl in love is blessed with just such eyes--sometimes.
Whereupon, remembering her own two girls, May and Doris--good as gold, bless them, yet, her shrewdness pronounced, when compared with Damaris, but homely pieces--the excellent woman sighed.
What did it all then amount to?
Mrs.Horniblow's logic failed.

"All eyes"-- and very lovely ones at that--Damaris might be; yet her tranquillity and serenity appeared beyond question.

Must thrilling mystery be voted no more than a mare's-nest ?--Only, did not the fact remain that James had refused to commit himself either way, thereby naturally landing himself in affirmation up to the neck?
She gave it up.
But, even in the giving up, could not resist probing just a little.

The two gentlemen were out of earshot, standing near the glass door .-- How James' black, bow-windowed figure and the fixed red in his clean-shaven, slightly pendulous cheeks, did show up to be sure, in the light!--Unprofitable gift of observation, for possession of which she so frequently had cause to reproach herself .-- "You still look a little run down and pale, my dear," she said.