All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger.
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