She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. She had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty nez retroussé, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,—the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed.
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