And had you been there, my reader, ten to one but you would have said the same.

And yet she was attired in white satin, with spangled flounces and a tinsel jacket; and she wore a wreath of flowers (to be sure, the flowers were not real) on her long fair curls, with gaudy bracelets (to be sure, the stones were mock) on her slender arms.

Still there was something in her that all this finery could not vulgarize; and since it could not vulgarize, you pitied her for it.

She had one of those charming faces that look straight into the hearts of us all, young and old.

And though she seemed quite self-possessed, there was no effrontery in her air, but the ease of a little lady, with a simple child's unconsciousness that there was anything in her situation to induce you to sigh, "Poor thing!" "You should see her act, young gents," said the Cobbler: "she plays uncommon.