to marry his youngest daughter.

Armorer arrived in the early dawn. Early as it was,
a handsome victoria, with horses sleeker of skin and harness heavier
and brighter than one is used to meet outside the great cities,
had been in waiting for twenty minutes; while for that space
of time a pretty girl had paced up and down the platform.
The keenest observer among the crowd, airing its meek impatience
on the platform, did not detect any sign of anxiety in her behavior.
She walked erect, with a step that left a clean-cut footprint
in the dust, as girls are trained to walk nowadays.
Her tailor-made gown of fine blue serge had not a wrinkle.
It was so simple that only a fashionable woman could guess anywhere
near the awful sum total which that plain skirt, that short jacket,
and that severe waistcoat had once made on a ruled sheet of paper.
When she turned her face toward the low, red station-house and
the people, it looked gentle, and the least in the world sad.
She had one of those clear olive skins that easily grow pale;
it was pale to-day. Her black hair was fine as spun silk;
the coil under her hat-brim shone as she moved. The fine hair,
the soft, transparent skin, and the beautiful marking of her brows
were responsible for an air of fragile daintiness in her person,
just as her almond-shaped, liquid dark eyes and unsmiling mouth made
her look sad. It was a most attractive face, in all its moods;
sometimes it was a beautiful face; yet it did not have a single
perfect feature except the mouth, which--at least so Harry Lossing
told his mother--might have been stolen from the Venus of Milo.
Even the mouth, some critics called too small for her nose;
but it is as easy to call her nose too large for her mouth.