"What a handsome woman!" thought Lizzie, as she occasionally
surveyed Mrs. Levy from head to foot during the tˆte-…-tˆte.

And she was a handsome womam, dressed quietly but richly in black
satin, her head adorned only by the clustering curls she had worn
from her girlhood. There was little change even in their
arrangement, and only an occasional thread of silver here and there
bespoke the touch of time. Her eyes were still beautiful, but their
lustre had been dimmed by the tears of her widowhood.

Bertha bore the same cast of beauty that distinguished her mother,
yet time's developing, modelling work for her was not yet completed.
When the guests were duly assembled, Bertha approached her mother,
who was still entertaining Lizzie, appearing quite fascinated with
her daughter's friend, and said, "Mother, won't you release your
prisoner now? Helen Le Grande wishes her to join the group over
there by the window, in a game of euchre."

"Certainly, my dear. I trust Miss Heartwell will pardon me if I have
detained her too long."

"Come, Lizzie, come along," said Bertha; and then added, in an
undertone, "you know what I promised to show you, Lizzie. Come with
me; let them make up the game without you."

"Oh! yes, that album; show it to me," said Lizzie, following Bertha
to a well-filled ‚tagŠre, from which she took a handsomely bound
album, saying, "This is from Asher. Isn't it lovely?"

"Indeed it is," replied Lizzie.