"I acknowledge," said Fitzsimmons, "the graceful contour of the heads called classic. On this side of the Atlantic we have few opportunities of judging of antique sculpture, except from casts and engravings. But as to the faces of the nymphs and goddesses of Grecian art, I must venture to confess that they do not exactly comport with my ideas of female loveliness. Not to speak of their almost unvarying sameness (an evidence, I think, that they are not modelled from life, for nature never repeats herself), their chief characteristics are a cold regularity of outline, and an insipid straightness of nose and forehead, such as in a living countenance would be found detrimental to all expression. I know I am talking heresy: but I cannot divest myself of the persuasion, that a face with precisely the features that we are accustomed to admire in antique statuary, would, if clothed in flesh and blood, be scarcely considered beautiful." "Perhaps so," said Rainsford; "but you surely consider Miss Mandeville beautiful?" "The beauty of Lucinda Mandeville," replied Fitzsimmons, "is not that of a Grecian statue. It is the beauty of an elegant American lady, uniting all the best points of her countrywomen. Her figure is symmetry itself, and there is an ease, a grace, a dignity in her movements, which I have never seen surpassed. Her features are lovely in their form and charming in their expression, particularly her fine black eyes: and her complexion is unrivalled both in its bloom and its delicacy." "What a pity that Lucinda does not hear all this!" remarked Miss Delwin, who happened to be near Fitzsimmons and his friend. Fitzsimmons coloured, fearing that he had spoken with too much warmth: and, bowing to Miss Delwin, he took the arm of Rainsford, and went to another part of the room. Miss Delwin, however, lost no time in finding Lucinda, and repeated the whole, verbatim, to her highly gratified friend, who tried to look indifferent, but blushed and smiled all the time she was listening: and who, from this moment, felt a sensible accession to her usual excellent spirits. "Ladies," said Miss Delwin, "choose your partners for a cotillion." For a few moments the ladies hesitated, and held back at the idea of so novel a beginning to the ball: and Fitzsimmons, much amused, made a sign to his friends not to advance. Miss Mandeville came forward with a smile on her lips, and a blush on her cheeks. The heart of Fitzsimmons beat quick; but she passed him, and curtsying to young Colesberry, who was just from college, and extremely diffident, she requested the honour of his hand, and led him, with as much composure as she could assume, to a cotillion that was forming in the centre of the room; he shrinking and apologizing all the while. And Miss Delwin engaged Fitzsimmons.