The elder lady, whom Sandy insisted had come to Edinburgh to marry me, was an intentional female, with much hair, much rouge, and a pallor heightened by rice-powder, which gave her a very floury and unclean appearance. Her eyes were an indescribable color, resembling the pulp of a grape, and near-set, a thing which I have never been able to abide in man, woman, or child. Her nose was long and peaked, and her mouth dropped at the corners. But it was the strange set of her whole figure which struck my notice again and again. For she was, to use a lumbering expression, all in front of her spine, with neither backward curve to her head, nor her shoulders nor hips, which gave her a peculiarly unpliable appearance. Her voice was high and of a singular penetrating quality, and she had an over-civil manner to us, as of one who has something to gain. Her gown, of blue, had many strange kinds of trimming which seemed both needless and inexpressive, and what with the rouge and the chains and hangings around her neck, she reminded me of nothing so much as a grotesque figure for a Christmas-tree decoration. When it be added to all of this that she had a fearful habit of emphasizing certain words in a senseless and flippant style, and of waving a lace kerchief constantly, after the manner of a flag, it may be imagined with what joy I relished her society. "Ah!" she said, "you are alone after the party. What a success it was! A positive triumph, positive! Isabel and I had been told how delightful Edinburgh society was, but we were not prepared for the gaiety we found. It was charming! Positively charming! And how beautiful you looked, my dear," she went on, turning to Nancy. "Of course we'd heard of you--every one in any society at all has heard of you, you know; but you've such style, my dear--positively the belle-air, positively! "I know you're pleased to hear how your daughter is adored, aren't you, Lord Stair? It's what I say to the dear duchess (the Duchess of Mont Flathers, you know--we're just like sisters!). 'Maria,' I say to her, 'of course I am pleased to have Isabel the rage, as she is--it's only natural, she being my daughter, that I should feel so.' I am enchanted at all the attention she receives, and at the way men rave over her. It's a mother's feeling. One night, I recall, when Danvers Carmichael had positively compromised Isabel by his attentions, for he's always after her, the dear duchess said to me: "'Anne, this is going too far!' And I said: "'Dearest, it may be; but I have no heart to stop them. They both look so happy.' And the duchess replied: "'Anne, your feelings do you credit; and I think it's so sweet and womanly to be so honest about it.' "'We naturally like to have our children beloved,' I answered, stiffly.