"That's a lovely little cousin of yours," said Thorn one evening, when he and Rossitur, on horseback, were leisurely making their way along the up and down road between Montepoole and Queechy.
"She is not particularly little," said Rossitur with a dryness that somehow lacked any savour of gratification.
"She is of a most fair stature," said Thorn;--"I did not mean anything against that,--but there are characters to which one gives instinctively a softening appellative."
"Are there?" said Charlton.
"Yes. She is a lovely little creature."
"She is not to compare to one of those girls we have left behind us at Montepoole," said Charlton.
"Hum--well perhaps you are right; but which girl do you mean?--for I profess I don't know."
"The second of Mrs. Evelyn's daughters--the auburn-haired one."
"Miss Constance, eh?" said Thorn. "In what isn't the other one to be compared to her?"
"In anything! Nobody would ever think of looking at her in the same room?"