Chapter 11.16 - Shirley

Mobile they were, and speaking, but their changes were not to be understood, nor their language interpreted all at once. She examined Caroline seriously, inclining her head a little to one side with a thoughtful air. You see, she is only a feeble chick, observed Mr. Helston. She looks young. Younger than I. How old are you? she inquired, in a manner that would have been patronizing if it had not been extremely solemn and simple. Eighteen years and six months. And I am twenty-one. She said no more. She had now placed her flowers on the table, and was busied in arranging them. And, since Athanasius's creed, urged the rector, you believe it all, don't you? I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nose-gay, Mr. Helston, when I have given your niece one. She had selected a little bouquet of one brilliant and two or three delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark verdure. She tied it with a silk from her work-box, and placed it on Caroline's lap. And then she put her hands behind her, and stood, bending slightly towards her guest, still regarding her in the attitude and with something of the aspect of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This temporary expression of face was aided by the style in which she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in a glossy sweep above the forehead, whence it fell in curls that looked natural, so free were their wavy undulations. Are you tired with our walk? She inquired. No. Not in the least. It is but a short distance, but a mile. You look pale. Is she always so pale? She asked, turning to the rector. She used to be, as rosy as the reddest of your flowers. Why is she altered? What has made her pale? Has she been ill?