“Is she anything like her mother?”
“Very much like her,” Brownie said, dryly.
“A fine wife he will have, I fear!” he answered, with curling lips.
“I am very sorry for him,” the young girl replied, gently.
“He is very nice, I expect,” said the cripple, his lips quivering painfully, while he shaded his face with his hand.
“He is indeed a very fine young man, I am told.”
“Would you mind telling me what he is like?” and Brownie wondered why his tones were husky and tremulous.
She described him as well as she could, and concluded:
“To sum it all up, he is very handsome, and as good—they say—and noble in proportion.”
A heavy sigh was the only reply, and then he appeared to be sunk in reverie.