She has a forehead so low it rests upon her eyebrows, which, by the way, have been ruled straight across the immeasurable breadth of it with a T square.

She has eyes bluer one minute than the grotto at Capri, greener the next than grass in June, grayer the next than a November day, and so on in turn through all the prismatic colors.

Her eyelashes are only not quite so long as her hair.
She has a mouth which would strike you as large,--it is five and a half inches across,--but when she speaks, and you hear the combined wisdom of Solomon, and Plato, and Socrates, and Solon, and the rest of the ancients (not to mention the moderns), falling from her lips, your only wonder is that her mouth keeps within its present limits.

Her nose--Miss Phebe, can it be?
Is it possible you have left out her nose?
Soeur Angelique, I am forced to the melancholy conclusion that Gerald has none.

Miss Phebe would never have omitted mentioning it." "You may make all the fun of her and of me that you like," said Phebe, half provoked.