Isabel had never seen a little person of this pattern; American girls were very different--different too were the maidens of England.

Pansy was so formed and finished for her tiny place in the world, and yet in imagination, as one could see, so innocent and infantine.

She sat on the sofa by Isabel; she wore a small grenadine mantle and a pair of the useful gloves that Madame Merle had given her--little grey gloves with a single button.

She was like a sheet of blank paper--the ideal jeune fille of foreign fiction.

Isabel hoped that so fair and smooth a page would be covered with an edifying text.
The Countess Gemini also came to call upon her, but the Countess was quite another affair.