first five minutes. She was a young-looking lady, younger-
looking than she was. She had a dark, rich complexion, and a
face that I suppose would have been called handsome; it was
never handsome to me. Long black curls on each side of her
face, and large black eyes, were the features that first
struck one; but I immediately decided that Miss Pinshon was
not born a lady. I do not mean that I think blood and breeding
are unseverable; or that half a dozen lady ancestors in a
direct line secure the character to the seventh in descent;
though they _do_ often secure the look of it; nevertheless,
ladies are born who never know all their lives how to make a
curtsey, and curtseys are made with infinite grace by those
who have nothing of a lady beyond the trappings. I never saw
Miss Pinshon do a rude or an awkward thing, that I remember;
nor one which changed my first mind about her. She was
handsomely dressed; but there again I felt the same want. Miss
Pinshon's dresses made me think always of the mercer's counter
and the dressmaker's shop.
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