There was an
appearance of art and worldliness in the expression of her countenance
that was only so much the more striking when placed in obvious contrast
to the ingenuous nature and calm purity that shone in every lineament of
the face of Ghita. One might very well have passed for an image of the
goddess Circe; while the other would have made no bad model for a
vestal, could the latter have borne the moral impression of the sublime
and heart-searching truths that are inculcated by the real oracles of
God. Then the lady was a woman in the meridian of her charms, aided by
all the cunning of the toilet and a taste that was piquant and peculiar,
if not pure; while the other stood in her simple, dark Neapolitan bodice
and a head that had no other ornament than its own silken tresses; a
style of dress, however, that set off her faultless form and winning
countenance more than could have been done by any of the devices of the
mantua-maker or the milliner. The lady betrayed a little surprise, and
perhaps a shade of uneasiness, as her glance first fell on Ghita; but,
much too good an actress to be disconcerted easily, she smiled and
immediately recovered her ease.
"Is _this_ the being, Nelson, who comes with _such_ a petition?" she
demanded, with a touch of natural womanly sensibility in her voice; "and
that poor old man, I dare say, is the heart-stricken father."
"As to the errand, you will remember, I know nothing as yet, and pledge
myself to nothing.
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