Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. “Never was such an age of transition. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. “You see, daddy, I don’t think it IS preposterous. ‘I see that Leonardo was right. Under another name,—not my own hateful one,—I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably.
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