"And have been for the last month or so, I should say," her brother rejoined, assuming the mock air and tone of a judge, as he gravely continued his research; "that is to say, judging from the extent of the influence I see has been exercised upon your face. No, do not tell me, who have been amongst the shrewd, long-headed Yankees, that any true sisterly feelings have given such diamond brightness to your eyes, such radiant beauty to your cheek and brow." The young man was right. The change he marked was not the influence of the present happy hour; a stronger and less recent power had done the magic work. Mary had become, within the last few months, what less partial judges than a brother might have rightly owned as "almost beautiful." "But, Melanie, I little dreamed What spells the stirring heart may move, Pygmalion's statue never seemed More charged with life than she with love. The pearl-tint of the early dawn Flush'd into day spring's rosy hue, The meek moss folded bud of morn, That opens to the light and dew. The first and half-seen star of even Wax'd clear amid the deepening heaven. Similitudes perchance may be, But these are changes oftener seen, And do not image half to me My sister's change of face and mien; 'Twas written in her very air That love had passed and entered there." "Well, well," he continued, as he marked the conscious effect his latter words had made upon his sister's speaking countenance, "tell me all about it, and what is that very interesting piece of news, you mentioned in your letter, awaiting my arrival?" "Dear, dear Arthur, I am going to be married." The young man made a theatrical start backwards, of affected wonder and amazement. "Going to be married!" he repeated, "and how do you know whether I will give my consent?" "Oh, you will! I am sure you will, when you know and hear all about it; and when you have seen Eugene." "Eugene! what a very delightfully romantic name, for my dear little romantic sister; and who is this Eugene?" "Eugene Trevor; the son of Mr. Trevor of Montrevor, in this county." "And how long have you been acquainted?" "Oh, ever since I came here in June. I had seen him once before, but that was a long time ago." "Well! I suppose, I ought to be very much pleased." "Ought! but you are--yes, though you try to look so solemn--you are delighted at your prophecy--your old _bête noir_ being thus effectually removed. Namely, that your sisters would be 'old maids.'" "Ah! yes--for how could I ever have imagined, that so many eligible husbands should be picked up amongst the wilds of poor old Wales? But you--you very sly little thing--when did you ever hear me express a fear or a wish respecting your marriage?" "Never, Sir, because I really believe you thought me quite a hopeless subject of speculation; that T was cut out irreparably for 'an old maid.'"