Never more beautiful than those of Julia Girdwood, the occupant of the apartment above mentioned.
She is not its sole occupant. There is another young lady beside her, her cousin, Cornelia Inskip. She has also pretty eyes, of a bluish tint; but they are scarce observed after looking into those orbs of dark bistre, that seem to burn with an everlasting love-light.
In the language of the romance writer, Julia would be termed a brunette, Cornelia a blonde. Their figures are as different as their complexion: the former tall and of full womanly development, the latter of low stature, slighter, and to all appearance more youthful.
Equally unlike their dispositions. She of the dark complexion appears darker in thought, with greater solemnity of movement; while, judging by her speech, the gay, sprightly Cornelia thinks but little of the past, and still less about the future.
Robed in loose morning-wrappers, with tiny slippers poised upon their toes, they are seated in rocking-chairs, just inside the window. The eyes of both, sweeping the blue sea, have just descried the steamer coming from beyond the distant Point Judith, and heading in a north-easterly direction.
It was a fine sight, this huge black monster beating its way through the blue water, and leaving a white seething track behind it.
Cornelia sprang out into the balcony to get a better view of it.
“I wonder what boat it is?” she said. “One of the great ocean steamers, I suppose—a Cunarder!”
“I think not, Neel. I wish it was one, and I aboard of it. Thank Heaven! I shall be, before many weeks.”
“What! tired of Newport already? We’ll find no pleasanter place in Europe. I’m sure we shan’t.”