But he reverts to his new acquisition--the acquaintance of the Miss
Berrys, who had accidentally taken a house next to his at Strawberry
Hill. Their story, he adds, was a curious one: their descent Scotch;
their grandfather had an estate of £5,000 a year, but disinherited his
son on account of his marrying a woman with no fortune. She died, and
the grandfather, wishing for an heir-male, pressed the widower to marry
again: he refused; and said he would devote himself to the education of
his two daughters. The second son generously gave up £8oo a year to his
brother, and the two motherless girls were taken to the Continent,
whence they returned the 'best informed and most perfect creatures that
Horace Walpole ever saw at their age.'

Sensible, natural, frank, their conversation proved most agreeable to a
man who was sated of grand society, and sick of vanity until he had
indulged in vexation of spirit. He discovered by chance only--for there
was no pedantry in these truly well-educated women--that the eldest
understood Latin, and 'was a perfect Frenchwoman in her language. Then
the youngest drew well; and copied one of Lady Di Beauclerk's pictures,
'The Gipsies,' though she had never attempted colours before. Then, as
to looks: Mary, the eldest, had a sweet face, the more interesting from
being pale; with fine dark eyes that were lighted up when she spoke.
Agnes, the younger, was 'hardly to be called handsome, but almost;' with
an agreeable sensible countenance. It is remarkable that women thus
delineated--not beauties, yet not plain--are always the most fascinating
to men. The sisters doted on each other: Mary taking the lead in
society. 'I must even tell you,' Horace wrote to the Countess of Ossory,
'that they dress within the bounds of fashion, but without the
excrescences and balconies with which modern hoydens overwhelm and
barricade their persons.' (One would almost have supposed that Horace
had lived in the days of crinoline.')