Thorough woman she seemed--not a bit of the angel about her.

Scarcely beautiful; and "pretty" would have been the very last word to have applied to her; but there was around her an atmosphere of freshness, health, and youth, pleasant as a breeze in spring.
For her attire, it was that notable grey silk gown--very simply made, with no fripperies or fandangos of any sort--reaching up to her throat and down to her wrists, where it had some kind of trimming of white fur, which made the skin beneath show exquisitely delicate.
"That is Miss March," said our landlady, when she had disappeared.
"Is it ?" said John, removing his eyes from the shut door.
"She be very sensible-like, for a young body of seventeen; more sensible and pleasanter than her father, who is always ailing, and always grumbling.

Poor gentleman!--most like he can't help it.

But it be terrible hard for the daughter--bean't it, sir ?" "Very," said John.

His laconism was extraordinary.
Still he kept standing by the kitchen-table, waiting till the last bandage had been sewn on Jack's cut forehead, and even some minutes after his protege had begun playing about as usual.