"A most exquisite picture!" said Thorn, "and the original don't stand so thick that one is in any danger of mistaking them. Is the painter Shakspeare?--I don't recollect--"
"I think Sidney, sir--I am not sure."
"But still, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs Evelyn, "this is only in general--I want very much to know the particulars;--what style of features belonged to this face?"
"The fairest, I think, I have ever known," said Mr. Carleton. "You asked me, Miss Evelyn, what was my notion of beauty;--this face was a good illustration of it. Not perfection of outline, though it had that too in very uncommon degree;--but the loveliness of mind and character to which these features were only an index; the thoughts were invariably telegraphed through eye and mouth more faithfully than words could give them."
"What kind of eyes?" said Florence.
His own grew dark as he answered,--
"Clear and pure as one might imagine an angel's--through which I am sure my good angel many a time looked at me."
Good angels were at a premium among the eyes that were exchanging glances just then.
"And Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn,--"is it fair to ask--this paragon--is she living still?"
"I hope so," he answered, with his old light smile, dismissing the subject.