Indeed, this capability of transfiguration, which we often see wrought by inward delight on persons far less capable of it than Hilda, suggests how angels come by their beauty, it grows out of their happiness, and lasts forever only because that is immortal.
She held out her hand, and Kenyon was glad to take it in his own, if only to assure himself that she was made of earthly material.
"Yes, Hilda, I see that you are very happy," he replied gloomily, and withdrawing his hand after a single pressure.

"For me, I never was less so than at this moment." "Has any misfortune befallen you ?" asked Hilda with earnestness.

"Pray tell me, and you shall have my sympathy, though I must still be very happy.

Now I know how it is that the saints above are touched by the sorrows of distressed people on earth, and yet are never made wretched by them.

Not that I profess to be a saint, you know," she added, smiling radiantly.