Ursula wisely began to talk of something else--showed Muriel's eyelashes, very long for such a baby--and descanted on the colour of her eyes, that fruitful and never-ending theme of mothers and friends.
"I think they are like her father's; yes, certainly like her father's.
But we have not many opportunities of judging, for she is such a lazy young damsel, she hardly ever opens them--we should often fancy her asleep, but for that little soft coo; and then she will wake up all of a sudden.

There now! do you see her?
Come to the window, my beauty! and show Dr.Jessop your bonny brown eyes." They were bonny eyes! lovely in shape and colour, delicately fringed; but there was something strange in their expression--or rather, in their want of it.

Many babies have a round, vacant stare--but this was no stare, only a wide, full look--a look of quiet blankness--an UNSEEING look.
It caught Dr.Jessop's notice.

I saw his air of vexed dignity change into a certain anxiety.
"Well, whose are they like--her father's or mine?
His, I hope--it will be the better for her beauty.

Nay, we'll excuse all compliments." "I--I can't exactly tell.