On the appointed day, a carriage drove up to the entrance and Amy Denmead, Mrs. Clarence's sister, alighted. The moment I saw her, truth compels me to state that she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever beheld. She was about twenty years of age, above the medium height and her form was molded in the most exquisite manner. Her face was really lovely, her features faultless, her complexion fair as Parian marble and yet the hue of health was on her cheeks--the white and red contrasting in admirable manner. Her hair was a dark glossy brown and hung in natural ringlets on her snowy neck and shoulders. Her bosom was full, voluptuous and beautifully rounded. Her hands and feet were small, almost to a fault, her carriage was full of grace and when she smiled she allowed to be seen a row of pearly teeth which, if they had been cut out of a solid piece of ivory, could not have been more regular. When I was introduced to her she received me with a good deal of warmth in her manner and observed that she was certain we would be good friends. During the evening she asked me if I had any objections to her sleeping with me, as she was too timid to sleep alone. I replied that I should be very happy for her to share my bed. We retired early as she was tired from her journey. She undressed very quickly and was soon between the sheets. I quickly followed her example. The moment I lay by her side she clasped me in her arms and pressed a warm kiss on my lips. I returned it, for I began to feel attracted by this delicious creature, and the warm contact of her beautiful semiglobes to mine sent a thrill through me. But we made no further progress that night, confining ourselves to conversation only. She asked me a great many questions concerning Herbert Clarence, as to "how I liked him," "how he behaved towards me," and a hundred other interrogatories. At last we went to sleep.