“Her hair was a rich auburn, not red (I don’t like that at all, for it is like a lucifer-match, apt to go off into a flame spontinaciously sometimes), but a golden colour, and lots of it too, just about as much as she could cleverly manage; eyes like diamonds; complexion, red and white roses; and teeth, not quite so regular as yours, Miss, but as white as them; and lips—lick!—they reminded one of a curl of rich rose-leaves, when the bud first begins to swell and spread out with a sort of peachy bloom on them, ripe, rich, and chock full of kisses.”
“Oh, the poor ignorant boy!” said Janet, “you didn’t know nothing, did you?”
“Well, I didn’t,” sais I, “I was as innocent as a child; but nobody is so ignorant as not to know a splendiferous gall when he sees her,” and I made a motion of my head to her, as much, as to say, “Put that cap on, for it just fits you.”
“My sakes, what a neck she had! not too long and thin, for that looks goosey; nor too short and thick, for that gives a clumsy appearance to the figure; but betwixt and between, and perfection always lies there, just midway between extremes. But her bust—oh! the like never was seen in Slickville, for the ladies there, in a gineral way, have no—”
“Well, well,” said Jessie, a little snappish, for praisin’ one gall to another ain’t the shortest way to win their regard, “go on with your story of Gaelic.”
“And her waist, Jessie, was the most beautiful thing, next to your’n, I ever see. It was as round as an apple, and anything that is round, you know, is larger than it looks, and I wondered how much it would measure. I never see such an innocent girl as she was. Brought up to home, and in the country, like me, she knew no more about the ways of the world than I did. She was a mere child, as I was; she was only nineteen years old, and neither of us knew anything of society rules. One day I asked her to let me measure her waist with my arm, and I did, and then she measured mine with her’n, and we had a great dispute which was the largest, and we tried several times before we ascertained there was only an inch difference between us. I never was so glad in my life as when she came to stay with us; she was so good-natured, and so cheerful, and so innocent, it was quite charming.
“Father took a wonderful shindy to her, for even old men can’t help liking beauty. But, somehow, I don’t think mother did; and it appears to me now, in looking back upon it, that she was afraid I should like her too much. I consaited she watched us out of the corner of her glasses, and had her ears open to hear what we said; but p’raps it was only my vanity, for I don’t know nothin’ about the working of a woman’s heart even now. I am only a bachelor yet, and how in the world should I know anything more about any lady than what I knew about poor Flora? In the ways of women I am still as innocent as a child; I do believe that they could persuade me that the moon is nothin’ but an eight-day clock with an illuminated face. I ain’t vain, I assure you, and never brag of what I don’t know, and I must say, I don’t even pretend to understand them.”
“Well, I never!” said Jessie.
“Nor I,” said Janet.
“Did you ever, now!” said Catherine. “Oh dear, how soft you are, ain’t you?”