generally.

"She's not such a wonderful beauty, after all," once said of her a
gentleman to whom it may be presumed that she had not taken the trouble
to be peculiarly attractive. "No," said another,--"no. But, by George! I
shouldn't like to have the altering of her." It was thus that men
generally felt in regard to Florence Mountjoy. When they came to reckon
her up they did not see how any change was to be made for the better.

To Florence, as to most other girls, the question of her future life had
been a great trouble. Whom should she marry? and whom should she decline
to marry? To a girl, when it is proposed to her suddenly to change
everything in life, to go altogether away and place herself under the
custody of a new master, to find for herself a new home, new pursuits,
new aspirations, and a strange companion, the change must be so
complete as almost to frighten her by its awfulness. And yet it has to
be always thought of, and generally done.

But this change had been presented to Florence in a manner more than
ordinarily burdensome. Early in life, when naturally she would not have
begun to think seriously of marriage, she had been told rather than
asked to give herself to her cousin Mountjoy. She was too firm of
character to accede at once--to deliver herself over body and soul to
the tender mercies of one, in truth, unknown. But she had been unable to
interpose any reason that was valid, and had contented herself by
demanding time. Since that there had been moments in which she had
almost yielded. Mountjoy Scarborough had been so represented to her that
she had considered it to be almost a duty to yield. More than once the
word had been all but spoken; but the word had never been spoken. She
had been subjected to what might be called cruel pressure. In season and