"You judge, then, by appearance merely."
"In this case—yes. Her nature is written on her face."
"All are at liberty to study it, then. Pray describe her."
He was silent. Then, "If I comply," he said, "will you bear in mind that I am quite well aware that that which makes this little lady's happiness is something that Mrs. Winthrop, of her own accord, has cast aside as nothing worth?" As he rounded off this phrase he turned and looked at her.
But she did not meet his eyes. "I will remember," she answered.
He waited. But she said nothing more.
"Mrs. Percival," he resumed, "is a beautiful young girl, with a face like a wild flower in the woods. She has an expression which is to me enchanting—an expression of sweet and simple goodness, and gentle, confiding trust. One is thankful to have even seen such a face."
"You speak warmly. I am afraid you are jealous of poor Mr. Percival."
"He did not strike me as poor. If I was jealous, it was not the first time. He was always fortunate."
"Perhaps there are other wild flowers in the woods; you must search more diligently." She opened the gate, passed through, and signalled to her groom.