Maternal relations. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself.
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