For she was very enchanting, this English girl, fresh as a rose and gay as a butterfly, with a face that none called beautiful but which most paused to admire.

It was the vividness, the entrancing vitality of her, that caught the attention.

People smiled almost unwittingly when little Chris Wyndham turned her laughing eyes their way; they were so clear, so blue, so confidingly merry.

There was a rare sweetness about her, a spontaneous charm irresistibly winning.

She loved everybody without effort, as naturally as she loved life, with an absence of self-consciousness so entire that perhaps it was not surprising that she was loved in return.
"You are much stronger than you look, _preux chevalier_," she remarked presently.