easy to recognise her as Lydia's sister; if you searched her
features the sisterhood was there, but the type of countenance was
so subtly modified, so refined, as to become beauty of rare
suggestiveness. She was of pale complexion, and had golden hair; it
was plaited in one braid, which fell to her waist. Like Lydia's, her
eyes were large and full of light; every line of the face was
delicate, harmonious, sweet; each thought that passed through her
mind reflected itself in a change of expression, produced one knew
not how, one phase melting into another like flitting lights upon a
stream in woodland. It was a subtly morbid physiognomy, and
impressed one with a sense of vague trouble. There was none of the
spontaneous pleasure in life which gave Lydia's face such wholesome
brightness; no impulse of activity, no resolve; all tended to
preoccupation, to emotional reverie. She had not yet completed her
seventeenth year. and there was still something of childhood in her
movements. Her form was slight, graceful, and of lower stature than
her sister's. She wore a dress of small-patterned print, with a
broad collar of cheap lace.

'It was too hot to light a fire,' she said, rising as Lydia entered.
'Mrs. Jarmey says she'll give us water for the tea.'

'I hoped you'd be having yours,' Lydia replied. 'It's nearly six
o'clock. I'll take the tea-pot down, dear.'

When they were seated at the table, Lydia drew from her pocket a
shilling and held it up laughingly.

'That from Mrs. Isaacs?' her sister asked.