So she was not sorry to see Katherine enter in a pretty, simple frock of flowered silk, pale blue in color, and further softened by a good deal of Valenciennes lace and a belt and long sash of white ribbon. Her hair was dressed in the mode, lifted high and loosely, and confined by an exquisite comb of carved ivory; the frontal curls were pushed behind the ears, but fell in bright luxuriance almost to her belt. So fair was she, so fresh and sweet and lovely, that Leyland—who was both sentimental and poetic, within practical limits—thought instantly of Ben Jonson’s exquisite lines, and applied them to his beautiful sister-in-law:
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you smelt of the bud of the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or tasted the bag of the bee,
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!
And then he felt a decided obligation to his own good judgment, for inducing him to marry into so handsome a family.