"She? O,"—very red in the face,—"she's a friend of mine, and she's Miss Ercildoune's seamstress."
"Ercildoune? good name! Is she the lady upon whom Surrey has been bestowing his—?"
"Yes, she is; and here's her photograph. Sallie begged it of her, and sent it to me, once after she had done a kind thing by both of us. Looks like a 'nigger wench,' don't she?"
The Captain seized the picture, and, having once fastened his eyes upon it, seemed incapable of removing them. "This? this her?" he cried. "Great Cæsar! I should think Surrey would have the fellow out at twenty paces in no time. Heavens, what a beauty!"
Jim grinned sardonically: "She is rather pretty, now,—ain't she?"
"Pretty! ugh, what an expression! pretty, indeed! I never saw anything so beautiful. But what a sad face it is!"
"Sad! well, 'tain't much wonder. I guess her life's been sad enough, in spite of her youth, and her beauty, and her riches, and all the rest."
"Why, how should that be?"
"Suppose you take another squint at that face."
"Well."