"Expressive?" said Stella, quietly.
"Eloquent," he corrected. "The sort of mouth that can speak volumes with a curve of the lip. You think I exaggerate? Wait until you see her."
"I don't think," said Stella, slowly, "that I am particularly desirous of seeing her, uncle. It reminds me of what they say of Naples—see Naples and die! See Lenore and die!"
He laughed.
"Well, it is not altogether false; many have seen her—many men, and been ready to die for love of her."
Stella laughed, softly.
"She must be very beautiful for you to talk like this, uncle. She is charming too?"
"Yes, she is charming," he said, low; "with a charm that one is bound to admit at once and unreservedly."
"But what does she do?" asked Stella, with a touch of feminine impatience.
"What does she not?" he answered. "There is scarcely an accomplishment under the sun or moon that she has not at her command. In a word, Stella, Lenore is the outcome of the higher civilization; she is the type of our latest requirement, which demands more than mere beauty, and will not be satisfied with mere cleverness; she rides beautifully and fearlessly; she plays and sings better than one-half the women one hears at concerts; they tell me that no woman in London can dance with greater grace, and I have seen her land a salmon of twenty pounds with all the skill of a Scotch gillie."