She wanted to see why Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at this new power she seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on the table, and sat down to study her own face.

She saw that it was very fair; the coloring was delicate and vivid, like that of the heart of a rose; the fresh, red lips were arched and smiling; the dark, shy eyes, with their long silken lashes, were bright and clear; a pretty, dimpled, smiling face told of a sweet, simple, loving nature--that was all; there was no intellect, no soul, no high-bred refinement; nothing but the charm of bright, half-startled beauty.
Dora was half puzzled.

She had never thought much of her own appearance.

Having lived always with sensible, simple people, the pernicious language of flattery was unknown to her.

It was with a half-guilty thrill of delight that she for the first time realized the charm of her own sweet face.
The sunny hours flew by.