Her father had doated on her face; but, as she argued, her father had been attracted by her mother, a beautiful woman, and this was a circumstance that reflected the greater hopelessness on her prospects.

She bore a likeness to her father, little to her mother, though he fancied the reverse and gave her the mother's lips and hair.

Thinking of herself, however, was destructive to the form of her mirror of knightliness: he wavered, he fled for good, as the rosy vapour born of our sensibility must do when we relapse to coldness, and the more completely when we try to command it.

No, she thought, a plain girl should think of work, to earn her independence.
'Women are not permitted to follow armies, Chillon ?' she said.
He laughed out.

'What 's in your head ?' The laugh abashed her; she murmured of women being good nurses for wounded soldiers, if they were good walkers to march with the army; and, as evidently it sounded witless to him, she added, to seem reasonable: 'You have not told me the Christian names of those ladies.' He made queer eyes over the puzzle to connect the foregoing and the succeeding in her remarks, but answered straightforwardly: 'Livia is one, and Henrietta! Her ear seized on the stress of his voice.