"I never was a child, you know; but I am always trying to find my childhood."
She took a necklace from the box, composed of a single string of small, beautiful pearls, from which hung an egg-shaped amethyst of pure violet. She fastened the necklace round her throat.
"It is as lucent as the moon," she said, looking down at the amethyst, which shed a watery light; "I wish you had given it to me before."
Breaking the seal of the letter, with a twist of her mouth at the coat-of-arms impressed upon it, she shook out the closely written pages, and saying, "There is a volume," began reading. "It is very good," she observed at the end of the first page, "a regular composition," and went on with an air of increasing interest. "How does he look?" she asked, stopping again.
"As if he longed to see you."
Her eyes went in quest of him so far that I thought they must be startled by a sudden vision.
"How did you find his family?"
"Not like him much."
"I knew that; he would not have loved me so suddenly had I not been wholly unlike any woman he had known."
"His character is individual."