She moved like a man. Behind
the mildness of her eyes there was much character and resolve in her
carriage, in the strong neck, the firm breasts, the mouth resolute
and determined. She had now the fine expectation of her youth, her
health, her optimism, her ignorance of the world. When these things
left her she would perhaps be a yet plainer woman. In her dress she
was not clever. Her clothes were ugly with the coarse drab grey of
their material and the unskilful workmanship that had created them.
And yet there would be some souls who would see in her health, her
youth, the kind sympathy of her eyes and mouth, the high nobility of
her forehead from which her hair was brushed back, an attraction
that might hold them more deeply than an obvious beauty.
Uncle Mathew although he was a silly man was one of these perceptive
souls, and had he not been compelled by his circumstances to think
continually about himself, would have loved his niece very dearly.
As it was, he thought her a fine girl when he thought of her at all,
and wished her more success in life than her "poor old uncle" had
had. He looked at her now across the fireplace with satisfaction.
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