Volume I Part 14 (2/2)
”How old?”
”About ten or eleven.”
”That's an ugly age.”
”She will never be at an ugly age.”
”What style of beauty?”
”The highest ? that degree of mould and finish which belongs only to the finest material.”
”That is hardly the kind of beauty one would expect to see in such a place,” said Mrs. Carleton. ”From one side of her family, to be sure, she has a right to it.”
”I have seen very few examples of it anywhere,” said her son.
”Who were her parents?” said Mrs. Evelyn.
”Her mother was Mrs. Rossitur's sister ? her father” ?
”Amy Charlton!” exclaimed Mrs. Evelyn, ? ”Oh, I knew her! Was Amy Charlton her mother? O, I didn't know whom you were talking of. She was one of my dearest friends. Her daughter may well be handsome ? she was one of the most lovely persons I ever knew; in body and mind both. O, I loved Amy Charlton very much. I must see this child.”
”I don't know who her father was,” Mrs. Carleton went on.
”Oh, her father was Major Ringgan,” said Mrs. Evelyn. ”I never saw him, but I have heard him spoken of in very high terms. I always heard that Amy married very well.”
”Major Ringgan!” said Mrs. Thorn; ”his name is very well known; he was very distinguished.”
”He was a self-made man, entirely,” said Mrs. Evelyn, in a tone that conveyed a good deal more than the simple fact.
”Yes, he was a self-made man,” said Mrs. Thorn, ”but I should never think of that where a man distinguishes himself so much; he was very distinguished.”
”Yes, and for more than officer-like qualities,” said Mrs.
Evelyn. ”I have heard his personal accomplishments as a gentleman highly praised.”
”So that little Miss Ringgan's right to be a beauty may be considered clearly made out,” said Mr. Thorn.
”It is one of those singular cases,” said Mr. Carleton, ”where purity of blood proves itself, and one has no need to go back to past generations to make any inquiry concerning it.”
”Hear him!” cried Rossitur; ”and for the life of me I could see nothing of all this wonder. Her face is not at all striking.”
”The wonder is not so much in what it is, as in what it indicates,” said Mr. Carleton.
”What does it indicate?” said his mother.
”Suppose you were to ask me to count the shades of colour in a rainbow,” answered he.
”Hear him!” cried Thorn, again.
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