I should say, sir, if put on oath,
there was a good deal of the deuce in her eyes."
"When she is excited, you mean," interrupted Richard. "How are
they in repose?"
"They are never there," returned Victor. "They roll and turn and
flash and sparkle, and light upon one so uncomfortably, that he
begins to think of all the badness he ever did, and to wonder if
those coals of fire can't ferret out the whole thing."
"I like her eyes," said Richard, "but go on. Tell me of her
complexion."
"Black, of course," continued Victor, "but smooth as glass, with
just enough of red in it to make rouge unnecessary. On the whole I
shouldn't wonder if in seven or eight years' time she'd be as
handsome as the young lady of Collingwood ought to be."
"How should she be dressed?" asked Richard, who knew that Victor's
taste upon such matters was infallible, his mother and sister both
having been Paris mantua-makers.
"She should have scarlet and crimson and dark blue trimmed with
black," said Victor, adding that he presumed Mrs. Atherton would
willingly attend to those matters.
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