Alice Martin was an extremely pretty girl; and reminded one of a picture by Romney, with her soft brown hair and eyes to match. She was also sweet and good and restful; and possessed the power of making happy any man who happened to love her. She also possessed the power of loving almost any man—provided that he was kind and agreeable, and always on the spot: for—let poets and novelists say what they will in favour of manly beauty and manly prowess—it is not the man of war or the man of genius that carries the day with the majority of women, but the man who happens to be on the spot.
"I don't think Miss Alice is looking well; do you, Martha?" asked Joanna of her faithful handmaid one day.
"Far from it, miss, far from it. I passed the remark only the other day to Mrs. Martin's cook, that Miss Alice had just the same look that my niece Keren-happuch Tozer had; and in three weeks after that, Keren-happuch was a corpse," assented Martha cheerfully.
Joanna suppressed a smile. "Oh! I don't think she is as bad as that, Martha; but she looks to me as if she were fretting about something."
"May be she is, my dear. The heart knoweth its own bitterness, as Solomon said; and a wounded spirit is as a broken tooth, as it were."
"I sometimes wonder if she is in love with Paul," remarked Paul's sister thoughtfully.
"Well, to be sure, miss, what an idea! Yet Master Paul is a likely enough lad for any maid to fancy, bless his heart!"
"Falling in love seems a great bother, don't you think, Martha?"
"I should just think it is, my dear, and no mistake. I'm thankful to say I always kept clear of rubbish of that kind. I've had too much to do, what with preparing your dear papa's meals, and keeping the circuit's furniture in good order, to waste my time in thinking of men and love and fallals of that sort."
"I have made up my mind that I shall never marry," said Joanna.