hair, sat like that of a princess; and her face, oval in shape, proud
and soft by turns in expression--I have no way of conveying the
impression it gave one, but to say that it made me think of a nosegay
of fresh, flawless roses, white and red. Often, by candle-light,
especially if she were dressed for a ball, or sat at the play, I would
liken her to some animate gem, without the hardness that belongs to
real precious stones; for indeed she shone like a jewel, thanks to the
lustre of her eyes in artificial light. Whether from humidity or some
quality of their substance, I do not know, but they reflected the rays
as I have rarely seen eyes do; and in their luminosity her whole face
seemed to have part, so that her presence had an effect of warm
brilliancy that lured and dazzled you. To see her emerge from the
darkness of the Faringfield coach, or from her sedan-chair, into the
bright light of open doorways and of lanterns held by servants, was to
hold your breath and stand with lips parted in admiration, until she
made you feel your nothingness by a haughty indifference in passing,
or sent you glowing to the seventh heaven by a radiant smile.

While we were waiting for the heart of our paragon to reveal itself,
life in Queen Street was diversified, in the Fall of 1773, by an
unexpected visit.

Mr. Faringfield and Philip, as they entered the dining-room one
evening after their return from the warehouse, observed that an
additional place had been made at the table. Without speaking, the
merchant looked inquiringly, and with a little of apprehension, at his
lady.

"Ned has come back," she answered, trying to speak as if this were
quite cheerful news.