“Indeed, I did. Execution and expression were both fine. She has studied in Europe, Mrs. Hart says.”
“Did you learn who her husband is?”
“I learned that he isn’t. I was right in my conjecture. She is a widow.”
“That’s a relief. I am glad she is not-encumbered with a husband.”
“Fie upon you, man! You ought to be ashamed to say it. He has been dead quite a number of years.”
“Quite a number of years? Why, she can’t be more than twenty-four or five years old—and besides, she’s still in mourning.”
“I guess that’s about her age. But the mourning doesn’t signify, because it’s becoming to her; and so she would naturally keep it up as long as possible.”
“That introduces the point of chief importance. What did you think of her appearance?”
“Oh, she has magnificent eyes, and looks refined and interesting—looks as though she knew what sorrow meant, too—only, perhaps the least bit cold. No, cold isn’t the word. Say dignified, serious, a woman with whom one could never be familiar—in whose presence one would always feel a little—a little constrained. That isn’t exactly what I mean, either. You understand—one would always have to be on one’s guard not to say any thing flippant or trivial.”
“You mean she looks as though she were deficient in levity?”