"
"I never heard that your Vermont lakes were _grey_," said Miss
Cardigan.
"Oh, but they are! when the shadow of the mountains closes
them in. It is not cold grey, but purple and brown, the shadow
of light as it were; the lake is in shadow. Only, if a bit of
blue _does_ show itself there, it is the very Heaven."
"I hope it is not going to be in poetry?" said Miss Cardigan's
voice, sounding dry and amused. "What is the next thing? It is
a very good picture of eyes."
"The next thing is a mouth that makes you think of nothing but
kissing it; the lines are so sweet, and so mobile, and at the
same time so curiously subdued. A mouth that has learned to
smile when things don't go right; and that has learned the
lesson so well, you cannot help thinking it must have often
known things go wrong; to get the habit so well, you know."
"Eh? — Why, boy!" — cried Miss Cardigan.
"Do you know anybody like it?" said Thorold, laughing. "If you
do, you are bound to let me know where, you understand."
"What lies between the eyes and mouth?" said Miss Cardigan.
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