In one of the most celebrated art galleries of Rome Miss Hastings remembered to have seen a superb bust of Juno; as she looked at her new pupil, she could almost fancy that its head had been modeled from hers. Pauline's head was royal in its queenly contour; the brow low, white, and rounded at the temples; the hair, waving in lines of inexpressible beauty, was loosely gathered together and fastened behind with a gleaming silver arrow. The eyes were perhaps the most wonderful feature in that wonderful face; they were dark as night itself, somewhat in hue like a purple heartsease, rich, soft, dreamy, yet at times all fire, all brightness, filled with passion more intense than any words, and shining then with a strange half-golden light. The brows were straight, dark, and beautiful; the lips crimson, full, and exquisitely shaped; the mouth looked like one that could persuade or contemn--that could express tenderness or scorn, love or pride, with the slightest play of the lips. Every attitude the girl assumed was full of unconscious grace. She did not appear to be in the least conscious of her wonderful beauty. She had walked to the window, and stood leaning carelessly against the frame, one beautiful arm thrown above her head, as though she were weary, and would fain rest--an attitude that could not have been surpassed had she studied it for years. "You are not at all what I expected to see," said Miss Hastings, at last. "You are, indeed, so different that I am taken by surprise." "Am I better or worse than you had imagined me?" she asked, with careless scorn. "You are different--better, perhaps, in some things. You are taller. You are so tall that it will be difficult to remember you are a pupil." "The Darrells are a tall race," she said, quietly. "Miss Hastings, what have you come here to teach me?" The elder lady rose from her seat and looked lovingly into the face of the girl; she placed her hand caressingly on the slender shoulders. "I know what I should like to teach you, Miss Darrell, if you will let me. I should like to teach you your duty to Heaven, your fellow-creatures, and yourself." "That would be dry learning, I fear," she returned. "What does my uncle wish me to learn?" "To be in all respects a perfectly refined, graceful lady." Her face flushed with a great crimson wave that rose to the white brow and the delicate shell-like ears. "I shall never be that," she cried, passionately. "I may just as well give up all hopes of Darrell Court. I have seen some ladies since I have been here. I could not be like them. They seem to speak by rule; they all say the same kind of things, with the same smiles, in the same tone of voice; they follow each other like sheep; they seem frightened to advance an opinion of their own, or even give utterance to an original thought. They look upon me as something horrible, because I dare to say what I think, and have read every book I could find."