"Sometimes exquisitely lovely."
"Everybody says so;—and I am sure it is the fact. Do you know;—but perhaps you'll think I am envious."
"If I thought you envious of Lizzie, I should have to think you very foolish at the same time."
"I don't know what that means;"—she did know well enough what it meant;—"but sometimes to me she is almost frightful to look at."
"In what way?"
"Oh, I can't tell you. She looks like a beautiful animal that you are afraid to caress for fear it should bite you;—an animal that would be beautiful if its eyes were not so restless, and its teeth so sharp and so white."
"How very odd."
"Why odd, Mr. Greystock?"
"Because I feel exactly in the same way about her. I am not in the least afraid that she'll bite me; and as for caressing the animal,—that kind of caressing which you mean,—it seems to me to be just what she's made for. But, I do feel sometimes, that she is like a cat."
"Something not quite so tame as a cat," said Lucy.