“And so do I,” said Fanny, warmly; “and yet I should not like Mr. Severne to have a beard. Don't you think he is very handsome?” “He is something more,” said Rhoda. “He is beautiful. If he was dressed as a woman, the gentlemen would all run after him. I think his is the most perfect oval face I ever saw.” “But you must not fall in love with him,” said Fanny. “I do not mean to,” said Rhoda. “Falling in love is not my business: and if it was, I should not select Mr. Severne.” “Why not, pray?” inquired Zoe haughtily. Her manner was so menacing that Rhoda did not like to say too much just then. She felt her way. “I am a physiognomist,” said she, “and I don't think he can be very truthful. He is old of his age, and there are premature marks under his eyes that reveal craft, and perhaps dissipation. These are hardly visible in the room, but they are in the open air, when you get the full light of day. To be sure, just now his face is marked with care and anxiety; that young man has a good deal on his mind.” Here the observer discovered that even this was a great deal too much. Zoe was displeased, and felt affronted by her remarks, though she did not condescend to notice them; so Rhoda broke off and said, “It is not fair of you, Miss Dover, to set me giving my opinion of people you must know better than I do. Oh, what a garden!” And she was off directly on a tour of inspection. “Come along,” said she, “and I will tell you their names and properties.” They could hardly keep up with her, she was so eager. The fruits did not interest her, but only the simples. She was downright learned in these, and found a surprising number. But the fact is, Mr. Lucas had a respect for his predecessors. What they had planted, he seldom uprooted--at least, he always left a specimen. Miss Gale approved his system highly, until she came to a row of green leaves like small horseradish, which was planted by the side of another row that really was horseradish. “This is too bad, even for Islip,” said Miss Gale. “Here is one of our deadliest poisons planted by the very side of an esculent herb, which it resembles. You don't happen to have hired the devil for gardener at any time, do you? Just fancy! any cook might come out here for horseradish, and gather this plant, and lay you all dead at your own table. It is the Aconitum of medicine, the Monk's-hood or Wolf's-bane' of our ancestors. Call the gardener, please, and have every bit of it pulled up by the roots. None of your lives are safe while poisons and esculents are planted together like this.” And she would not budge till Zoe directed a gardener to dig up all the Aconite. A couple of them went to work and soon uprooted it. The gardeners then asked if they should burn it.