"Well the other face?"
"It has the same style of refined beauty of feature, but to compare them in a word, Marie Antoinette looks to me like a superb exotic that has come to its brilliant perfection of bloom in a hothouse it would lose its beauty in the strong free air it would change and droop if it lacked careful waiting upon and constant artificial excitement; the other," said Mr. Carleton, musingly, "is a flower of the woods, raising its head above frost and snow and the rugged soil where fortune has placed it, with an air of quiet patient endurance; a storm wind may bring it to the ground, easily, but if its gentle nature be not broken, it will look up again, unchanged, and bide its time in unrequited beauty and sweetness to the end."
"The exotic for me!" cried Rossitur, "if I only had a place for her. I don't like pale elegancies."
"I'd make a piece of poetry of that if I was you, Carleton," said Mr. Thorn.
"Mr. Carleton has done that already," said Mrs. Evelyn, smoothly.
"I never heard you talk so before, Guy," said his mother, looking at him. His eyes had grown dark with intensity of expression while he was speaking, gazing at visionary flowers or beauties through the dinner-table mahogany. He looked up and laughed as she addressed him, and rising, turned off lightly with his usual air.
"I congratulate you, Mrs. Carleton," Mrs. Evelyn whispered as they went from the table, "that this little beauty is not a few years older."
"Why?" said Mrs. Carleton, "If she is all that Guy says, I would give anything in the world to see him married."
"Time enough," said Mrs. Evelyn, with a knowing smile.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Carleton, "I think he would be happier. He is a restless spirit nothing satisfies him. nothing fixes him. He cannot rest at home he abhors politics he flits away from country to country and doesn't remain long anywhere."