They flashed upon you—not always softly; indeed, not often softly, if you were a stranger to her; but, whether softly or savagely, with a brilliancy that dazzled you as you looked at them. And who shall say of what color they were? Green probably, for most eyes are green—green or gray, if green be thought uncomely for an eye-color. But it was not their color, but their fire, which struck one with such surprise.
Lucy Robarts was thoroughly a brunette. Sometimes the dark tint of her cheek was exquisitely rich and lovely, and the fringes of her eyes were long and soft, and her small teeth, which one so seldom saw, were white as pearls, and her hair, though short, was beautifully soft—by no means black, but yet of so dark a shade of brown. Blanche, too, was noted for fine teeth. They were white and regular, and lofty as a new row of houses in a French city. But then, when she laughed, she was all teeth, as she was all neck when she sat at the piano. But Lucy's teeth—it was only now and again, when in some sudden burst of wonder she would sit for a moment with her lips apart, that the fine finished lines and dainty pearl-white color of that perfect set of ivory could be seen. Mrs. Pole would have said a word of her teeth also, but that to her they had never been made visible.
"But they do say she is the cleverest of them all," Mrs. Pole had added, very properly. The people of Exeter had expressed such an opinion, and had been quite just in doing so. I do not know how it happens, but it always does happen, that every body in every small town knows which is the brightest-witted in every family. In this respect Mrs. Pole had only expressed public opinion, and public opinion was right. Lucy Robarts was blessed with an intelligence keener than that of her brothers or sisters.
"To tell the truth, Mark, I admire Lucy more than I do Blanche." This had been said by Mrs. Robarts within a few hours of her having assumed that name. "She's not a beauty, I know, but yet I do."
"My dearest Fanny!" Mark had answered, in a tone of surprise.
"I do, then; of course, people won't think so; but I never seem to care about regular beauties. Perhaps I envy them too much."
What Mark said next need not be repeated, but every
