"Even that's a compliment," said Newton. "It's no use transplanting them in this weather, but I'll send you a basket in October. You should come down to Newton and see our ferns. We think we're very pretty, but because we're so near, nobody comes to see us." Then he fell a-talking with Mary Bonner, and stayed at the villa nearly all the afternoon. For a moment or two he was alone with Clarissa, and at once expressed his admiration. "I don't think I ever saw such perfect beauty as your cousin's," he said.
"She is handsome."
"And then she is so fair, whereas everybody expects to see dark eyes and black hair come from the West Indies."
"But Mary wasn't born there."
"That doesn't matter. The mind doesn't travel back as far as that. A negro should be black, and an American thin, and a French woman should have her hair dragged up by the roots, and a German should be broad-faced, and a Scotchman red-haired,—and a West Indian beauty should be dark and languishing."
"I'll tell her you say so, and perhaps she'll have herself altered."
"Whatever you do, don't let her be altered," said Mr. Newton. "She can't be changed for the better."
"I am quite sure he is over head and ears in love," said Clarissa to Patience that evening.