I hate your little women--that is, when I am in love with a tall one;
and who would not have loved Dorothea?

Fancy her, then, if you please, about five feet four inches high--fancy
her in the family color of light blue, a little scarf covering the most
brilliant shoulders in the world; and a pair of gloves clinging close
round an arm that may, perhaps, be somewhat too large now, but that
Juno might have envied then. After the fashion of young ladies on the
continent, she wears no jewels or gimcracks: her only ornament is a
wreath of vine-leaves in her hair, with little clusters of artificial
grapes. Down on her shoulders falls the brown hair, in rich liberal
clusters; all that health, and good-humor, and beauty can do for her
face, kind nature has done for hers. Her eyes are frank, sparkling, and
kind. As for her cheeks, what paint-box or dictionary contains pigments
or words to describe their red? They say she opens her mouth and smiles
always to show the dimples in her cheeks. Psha! she smiles because she
is happy, and kind, and good-humored, and not because her teeth are
little pearls.

All the young fellows crowd up to ask her to dance, and, taking from her
waist a little mother-of-pearl remembrancer, she notes them down. Old
Schnabel for the polonaise; Klingenspohr, first waltz; Haarbart, second
waltz; Count Hornpieper (the Danish envoy), third; and so on. I have
said why I could not ask her to waltz, and I turned away with a pang,
and played ecarte with Colonel Trumpenpack all night.

In thus introducing this lovely creature in her ball-costume, I have
been somewhat premature, and had best go back to the beginning of the