From this alone arose the full confidence alike reposed in each.

Mary Douglas was even more beautiful than Lady Rosamond.

Her features were formed as regularly as a model of an Angelo; her expression might be a life-long study for a DaVinci, a Rubens, or a Reynolds.

Yet such beauty had not power to fan anew the smouldering fire which consumed the vitality of Lieutenant Trevelyan's existence.

On the other hand this lovely girl saw not in her companion anything that could create any feeling akin to love.