While she is engaged, he gives a brush to his flowing beard and slightly waving hair that is of a rather light brown, and puts on a summer coat. A fine-looking man, certainly, with a rather long, oval face, clearly defined brows, and sharply cut nose and mouth; with a somewhat imperious expression that gives it character. The eyes are a deep, soft brown, with curious lights rippling through them like the tints of an agate. Generally they are tranquil to coldness, so far as mere emotion is concerned, but many things kindle them into interest, and occasionally to indignation. Health and a peculiar energy are in every limb, the energy that sets itself to conquer and is never lost in mere strife or bustle.
"Papa!"
"Yes, dear."
"You will wait for me?" entreatingly.
He comes to the door with a smile. Jane is brushing the fair, shining hair that is like a sea of ripples, and Cecil stretches out her hand with pretty eagerness, as if she shall lose him, after all.
"Suppose I tie it so, and curl it after breakfast," proposes Jane. "Miss Cecil is so impatient."
"Yes, that will do." It is beautiful, any way, he thinks. Then she dances around on one foot until her dress is put on, when she gives a glad bound.
"But your pinafore! American children do wear them," says Jane, in a rather uncertain tone.
"I am a little English girl," is the firm rejoinder.
"Then of course you must," responds papa.