"Regina, have you not entered upon your sixteenth year?"
"Yes, sir."
"I believe, Mr. Palma, it is the loveliest living face I ever saw. It is so peculiar, so intensely—what shall I say?—prophet-eyed."
"Yes, I believe that is the right word. When she looks steadily at me she often reminds me of a Sibyl."
"But is this her usual, every-day expression?"
"Rather sadder than customary, I think."
He went back to the group, and, standing in front of his ward, looked gravely down in her upturned face.
"Could you contrive to appear a little less solemn?"
She forced a smile, but he made an impatient gesture.
"Oh, don't! Anything would be better than that dire conflict between the expression of your mouth, and that of your eyes. Have you any hermetically sealed pleasant thoughts hidden behind that smooth brow, that you could be prevailed upon to call up for a few moments, just long enough to cast a glimmer of sunshine over your face? I think you once indignantly denied ever indulging in the folly of possessing a sweetheart, but perhaps you have really entertained more affaires de coeur than you choose to confide to such a grim, iron guardian as yours? Possibly you may cherish cheerful memories of the kind-hearted young missionary, whose chances of hastening to heaven, per Sepoy passport, viâ Delhi route, seem at times to distress you? Does he ever write you?"