Mackarel Lane

"A fine countenance! what one calls a fine countenance!" thought Rachel.
"Is it a delusion of insipidity as usual? The brow is good, massive, too
much for the features, but perhaps they were fuller once; eyes bright
and vigorous, hazel, the colour for thought; complexion meant to be
brilliant brunette, a pleasant glow still; hair with threads of grey.
I hope she does not affect youth; she can't be less than one or two and
thirty! Many people set up for beauties with far less claim. What is
the matter with her? It is not the countenance of deformity--accident, I
should say. Yes, it is all favourable except the dress. What a material;
what a pattern! Did she get it second-hand from a lady's-maid? Will
there be an incongruity in her conversation to match? Let us see. Grace
making inquiries--Quite at my best--Ah! she is not one of the morbid
sort, never thinking themselves better."

"I was afraid, I had not seen you out for some time."

"No; going out is a troublesome business, and sitting in the garden
answers the same purpose."

"Of air, perhaps, but hardly of change or of view."

"Oh! I assure you there is a wonderful variety," she answered, with an
eager and brilliant smile.

"Clouds and sunsets?" asked Rachel, beginning to be interested.

"Yes, differing every day. Then I have the tamarisk and its inhabitants.
There has been a tom-tit's nest every year since we came, and that
provides us with infinite amusement. Besides the sea-gulls are often so
good as to float high enough for me to see them. There is a wonderful
charm in a circumcribed view, because one is obliged to look well into
it all."