"It is hard to be nothing distinctive but short and stout and to wear
your hair in a knot, as your grandmother does! But the getting up head is
something."
"It doesn't add to my beauty. Miss Prudence, I'm afraid I'll be a homely
blue stocking. And if I don't teach, how shall I use my knowledge? I
cannot write a book, or even articles for the papers; and I must do
something with the things I learn."
"Every educated lady does not teach or write."
"You do not," answered Marjorie, thoughtfully; "only you teach Prue. And
I think it increases your influence, Miss Prudence. How much you have
taught Linnet and me!"
"I'm thinking about two faces I saw the other night at Mrs. Harrowgate's
tea table. Both were strangers to me. As the light fell over the face of
one I thought I never saw anything so exquisite as to coloring: the hair
was shining like threads of gold; the eyes were the azure you see in the
sky; lips and cheeks were tinted; the complexion I never saw excelled for
dazzling fairness,--we see it in a child's face, sometimes. At her side
sat a lady: older, with a quiet, grave face; complexion dark and not
noticeable; hair the brown we see every day; eyes brown and expressive,
but not finer than we often see. Something about it attracted me from her
bewitching neighbor, and I looked and compared. One face was quiet,
listening; the other was sparkling as she talked. The grave dark face
grew upon me; it was not a face, it was a soul, a human life with a
history.
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