“I call her the brown girl,” said the old gentleman. “Brown hair, brown eyes, and a brown skin. No, not a brunette; not dark enough for that--a warm, delicate brown; wait till you see it! Takes after her father, I should tell you. He was a fine-looking man in his time; foreign blood in his veins, by his mother’s side. Miss Regina gets her queer name by being christened after his mother. Never mind her name; she’s a charming person. Let’s drink her health.” We drank her health. Remembering that he had called her “the brown girl,” I said I supposed she was still quite young. “Better than young,” the doctor answered; “in the prime of life. I call her a girl, by habit. Wait till you see her!” “Has she a good figure, sir?” “Ha! you’re like the Turks, are you? A nice-looking woman doesn’t content you--you must have her well-made too. We can accommodate you, sir; we are slim and tall, with a swing of our hips, and we walk like a goddess. Wait and see how her head is put on her shoulders--I say no more. Proud? Not she! A simple, unaffected, kind-hearted creature. Always the same; I never saw her out of temper in my life; I never heard her speak ill of anybody. The man who gets her will be a man to be envied, I can tell you!” “Is she engaged to be married?” “No. She has had plenty of offers; but she doesn’t seem to care for anything of that sort--so far. Devotes herself to Mrs. Farnaby, and keeps up her school-friendships. A splendid creature, with the vital thermometer at temperate heart--a calm, meditative, equable person. Pass me the olives. Only think! the man who discovered olives is unknown; no statue of him erected in any part of the civilized earth. I know few more remarkable instances of human ingratitude.” I risked a bold question--but not on the subject of olives. “Isn’t Miss Regina’s life rather a dull one in this house?”