But it was easy for Geoffrey who was watching her to see that it was not her sister's views she was attacking; it was her sister.

It was that soft strong loveliness and the glory of that face; it was the deep gentle mind, erring from its very greatness, and the bright intellect which lit it like a lamp; it was the learning and the power that, give them play, would set a world aflame, as easily as they did the heart of the slow-witted hermit squire, whom Elizabeth coveted--these were the things that Elizabeth hated, and bitterly assailed.
Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced at the father.

The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene.

He stood fidgeting his feet about, and trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his elder daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking at.

Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath their dark lashes.