The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. “Yes. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. He was a little embarrassed.
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