She certainly had fine eyes, though I could never
imagine how any one could look at them and think it possible that
she should be in love. They were very large, beautifully blue, but
never bright; and the eyebrows over them were perfect. Her cheeks
were somewhat too long and the distance from her well-formed nose,
to her upper lip too great. Her mouth was small and her teeth
excellent. But the charm of which men spoke the most was the
brilliance of her complexion. If, as the ladies said, it was all
paint, she, or her maid, must have been a great artist. It never
betrayed itself to be paint. But the beauty on which she prided
herself was the grace of her motion. Though she was tall and big
she never allowed an awkward movement to escape from her. She
certainly did it very well. No young woman could walk across an
archery ground with a finer step, or manage a train with more
perfect ease, or sit upon her horse with a more complete look of
being at home there. No doubt she was slow, but though slow she
never seemed to drag. Now she was, after a certain fashion, engaged
to marry John Morton and perhaps she was one of the most unhappy
young persons in England.
She had long known that it was her duty to marry, and especially
her duty to marry well. Between her and her mother there had been
no reticence on this subject.
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