Camilla's delicately spare cheeks were softly pink, with that elderly bloom which lacks the warm dazzle of youth, yet has its own late beauty.

Her eyes were blue and clear as a child's, and as full of innocent dreams--only of the past instead of the future.

Her blond hair, which in turning gray had got a creamy instead of a silvery lustre, like her old lace, was looped softly and disposed in half-curls over her ears.

When she smiled it was with the grace and fine dignity of ineffable ladyhood, and yet with the soft ignorance, though none of the abandon, of childhood.

Camilla was like a child whose formal code and manners of life had been fully prescribed and learned, but whose vital copy had not been quite set.
Lucina loved her aunt Camilla with a strange sense of comradeship, and yet with awe.