A DAY AT LOCH-NA-SEACHIN. 179 



imagine a more lovely young woman. Tall, rather 

 slight in figure, and graceful as a young roe ; her 

 refined features and large lustrous grey eyes har- 

 monizing with a dark complexion, brown almost as 

 a Spanish girl's, yet exquisitely delicate ; moreover, 

 she had fine dark hair, perfect mouth and teeth, 

 and a look of sweetness and intelligence that took 

 the heart at once. But, to my taste, perhaps her 

 greatest charm was her voice, rich and musical in 

 every accent ; and, when particularly amused, she 

 had an odd way of looking at you with her great 

 bright eyes, and shrugging her pretty shoulders, 

 which was positive infection : grave as I am, I 

 could never resist her; for, notwithstanding a 

 queenly presence, like a demoiselle in an ancient 

 picture, Annie Peyton was a thorough, joyous, 

 frank, innocent girl. 



Her friend, Charlotte (or, as intimates styled her, 

 Charley Clive), by all was declared to be an unmis- 

 takably nice girl. Hardly so tall as Miss Peyton, 

 and somewhat fuller in figure, she had a pleasing 

 expression, a wealth of golden chestnut hair clubbed 

 behind her pretty ears, high features, blue eyes, a 

 dainty mouth, and a dimple. As might be expected, 

 she was reserved at first ; yea, almost what is called 



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