She certainly ought to make her way in the world, but what a pity that she was so plain.

Perhaps if she got some colour into her cheeks, dressed better, brushed her hair differently--no, her mouth would always be too large and her nose too small--and her figure was absurd.

Uncle Mathew considered that he was a judge of women.
He rose at last and, rather shamefacedly, said that he should go to bed.

Maggie wondered at the confusion that she detected in him.

She looked at him and he dropped his eyes.
"Good night, Uncle Mathew." He looked at her then and noticed by her white face and dark-lined eyes what a strain the day had been to her.