Of course no recognition passed; but there was a merry dimple beside her mouth, as if she quite well knew who we were, and owned to a little harmless feminine curiosity in observing us.
She had to pass our door, where stood Mrs.Tod and the baby.

It stretched out its little arms to come to her, with that pretty, babyish gesture which I suppose no woman can resist.

Miss March could not.
She stopped, and began tossing up the child.
Truly, they made a pleasant picture, the two--she with her hooded cloak dropping off, showing her graceful shape, and her dark-brown hair, all gathered up in a mass of curls at the top of her head, as the fashion then was.

As she stood, with her eyes sparkling, and the young blood flushing through her clear brunette cheeks, I was not sure whether I had not judged too hastily in calling her "no beauty." Probably, by his look, John thought the same.
She stood right before our wicket-gate; but she had evidently quite forgotten us, so happy was she with Mrs.Tod's bonny boy, until the landlady made some remark about "letting the gentlemen by." Then, with a slight start, drawing her hood back over her head, the young lady stepped aside.
In passing her, John raised his eyes, as was natural enough.

For me, I could hardly take mine from her, such a pleasant creature was she to behold.