She was a chubby, rosy-cheeked woman, apparently thirty-five years of age. Her eyes were very black, and she had a habit of frequently shutting them, so as to show off the long, fringed eyelashes. On the whole, I thought, she was quite prepossessing in her appearance, an opinion, however, which I changed ere long; for by the time I reached her, there was a dark cloud on her brow, evidently of displeasure or of disappointment. Still she was very polite, offering me her jewelled hand, and saying, “Miss Lee, I suppose. You are welcome to Georgia then;” after an instant, she added, “You don’t look at all like I thought you would.” I was _uglier_ than she expected, I presumed, and the tears started to my eyes as I replied, “I wrote to you that I was very plain, but after a little I shall look better; I am tired now with travelling.” A strange, peculiar smile flitted over her face, while she intently regarded me as if to assure herself of my sanity. I was puzzled, and in my perplexity I said something about returning home, if my looks were so disagreeable. “They were used to me there, and didn’t mind it,” I said; at the same time leaning my head against the vine-wreathed pillars, I sobbed aloud. Lithe as a kitten, little Jessie sprang up behind me, and winding her arms around my neck, asked why I cried. “Did ma make you cry?” she said. “Uncle Dick says she makes all the governesses cry.” “Jessica, Jessica, get down this moment,” said the lady. “I did not intend to hurt Miss Lee’s feelings, and do not understand how I could have done so. She is either acting a part, or else she strangely misunderstands me.” I never acted a part in my life, and, somewhat indignant, I wiped away my tears and asked “what she meant.” There was the same smile on her face which I had noticed before, as she said, “Do you really think yourself ugly?” Of course I did. I had never thought otherwise, for hadn’t I been told so ever since I was a child no larger than Jessie, and the impression thus early received had never been eradicated. Thus I answered her, and she believed me, for she replied, “You are mistaken, Miss Lee, for however plain you might have been in childhood, you are not so now. Neither do I understand how with those eyes, that hair and brow, you can think yourself ugly. I do not believe you meant to deceive me, but, to tell the truth, I am disappointed; but that cannot now be helped, and we’ll make the best of it.” Perfectly astonished, I listened to her remarks, giving her the credit of meaning what she said, and for the first time in my life, I felt as I suppose folks _must_ feel who think they are handsome! After this little storm was over, she evidently exerted herself to be agreeable for a few moments, and then rather abruptly asked me how old I was.