Three times that evening, after Mrs. Saville had left, did her companions surprise the glitter of tears in Peggy's eyes; but there was a dignified reserve about her manner which forbade outspoken sympathy. Even when she was discovered to be quietly crying behind her book, when Maxwell flipped it mischievously out of her hands—even then did Peggy preserve her wonderful self-possession. The tears were trickling down her cheeks, and her poor little nose was red and swollen, but she looked up at Maxwell without a quiver, and it was he who stood gaping before her, aghast and miserable.
"Oh, I say! I'm fearfully sorry!"
"So am I," said Peggy severely. "It was rude, and not at all funny. And it injures the book. I have always been taught to reverence books, and treat them as dear and valued companions. Pick it up, please. Thank you. Don't do it again." She hitched herself round in her chair and settled down once more to her reading, while Maxwell slunk back to his seat. When Peggy was offended she invariably fell back upon Mariquita's grandiose manner, and the sting of her sharp little tongue left her victims dumb and smarting.
(To be continued.)
[VARIETIES.]
What "George Eliot" was Like.
A graphic portrait in words of the famous novelist "George Eliot" has been given by Mrs. Katherine S. Macquoid. "George Eliot," she says, "was very plain, much plainer than any of the portraits make her out to be. Her mouth was repulsive, and seen in some lights the nose seemed to protrude unnaturally over the mouth; it did not in reality, but one sometimes received that impression.
"Her eyes were of that greenish hue seen in the hazel nut; you might say almost that they were hazel eyes shot with green. They were not at all prominent, but had such a wonderful look in them as they gazed at you, or rather scanned you in a curious, sidelong manner, peculiar to her. The only person whom I can think of with eyes like George Eliot was Home the medium."
Get out of it.