Miss Carry turned her head away for a minute; but presently she boldly faced her sister.
"Gerty, you don't mean to marry a beauty man!"
Gerty looked considerably puzzled; but her companion continued, vehemently,—
"How often have I heard you say you would never marry a beauty man—a man who has been brought up in front of the looking-glass—who is far too well satisfied with his own good looks to think of anything or anybody else! Again and again you have said that, Gertrude White. You told me, rather than marry a self-satisfied coxcomb, you would marry a misshapen, ugly little man, so that he would worship you all the days of your life for your condescension and kindness."
"Very well, then!"
"And what is Sir Keith Macleod but a beauty man?"
"He is not!" and for once the elder sister betrayed some feeling in the proud tone of her voice. "He is the manliest-looking man that I have ever seen; and I have seen a good many more men than you. There is not a man you know whom he could not throw across the canal down there. Sir Keith Macleod a beauty man!—I think he could take on a good deal more polishing, and curling, and smoothing without any great harm. If I was in any danger, I know which of all the men I have seen I would rather have in front of me—with his arms free; and I don't suppose he would be thinking of any looking-glass! If you want to know about the race he represents, read English history, and the story of England's wars. If you go to India, or China, or Africa, or the Crimea, you will hear something about the Macleods, I think!"
Carry began to cry.
"You silly thing, what is the matter with you?" Gertrude White exclaimed; but of course her arm was round her sister's neck.
"It is true, then."