Oh! oh, my Rhoda, love! how handsome you have grown.

It is very well to be fair for a time, but the brunettes have the happiest lot.

They last, and when we blonde ones cry or grow thin, oh! what objects we become!" There were some final affectionate words, but no further explanations.
The wrinkles again settled on the farmer's mild, uncomplaining forehead.
Rhoda said: "Let us wait, father." When alone, she locked the letter against her heart, as to suck the secret meaning out of it.

Thinking over it was useless; except for this one thought: how did her sister know she had grown very handsome?
Perhaps the housemaid had prattled..