"Of course I do. She frets, tries to hide it, and cannot; and you know,
Cornelius, it is only beauty looks lovely in tears."
"She is not a beauty, but she has fine eyes."
"Spite of which you cannot call her pretty, Cornelius."
He sighed and did not contradict it.
"I know you did not think so," continued Kate.
"Oh! Kate!" he interrupted with another sigh, "why, any one can see the poor child is only getting plainer as she grows up!"
"Never mind," cheerfully said Kate.
"But she may mind, and she will mind too. If the women slight and the men neglect her, how can she but mind it?"
"The plain have a happiness of their own," quietly replied Kate. "God looks kindly on them and they learn to despise the rude harshness of the world." With this she began talking to Cornelius of his journey.
I was then near fifteen. I remember myself well,—a thin, slim girl, awkward, miserably shy and nervous, with sunken eyes, a face more sallow than ever, and hair scarcely darker in hue than when Miriam Russell had aptly called it straw-coloured. I knew my own disadvantages quiet well, I was accustomed to them, and though I quailed a little when I heard Cornelius and Kate thus settle the delicate question of my looks, it was only for awhile. It is true that the taunts of Miriam had formerly exasperated me, because it was by her beauty that she had conquered and replaced me in the heart of Cornelius; but with her power vanished the sting of my plainness. The little emotion I felt was over when Cornelius stepped out into the garden to indulge in a cigar.