Bressant, from
his intuitive perception of form and proportion, was aware of this. The
forehead was too high, the nose irregular, the mouth lacked the perfect
curve, and the teeth, though white and even, were not small enough for
beauty.
Nevertheless, Bressant was at once impressed with the young girl's
presence. It was as if an ethereal cloud--such as that which, shone
through by white sunlight, was just floating past the window--had eddied
unexpectedly into his chamber, cooling and quieting him with the
freshness of its heavenly vapor. Her eyes met his with a simple
directness which made his glance waver, though he was not given to
humility. Something, whereof neither science nor philosophy can take
cognizance, seemed to emanate from her, elevating while it humbled him.
"If I'd known who you were, I--I shouldn't have asked you to shut the
door!" said he, in an apologetic tone quite new to him.
"And how do you know who I am?" inquired the vision, with a refreshing
smile.
"I meant, what sort of a person you were; but you must be Miss Sophie:
only I thought she was ill."
"I am Miss Sophie, but I'm not to be thought ill any more. One invalid
in the house is enough. I'm going to nurse you, and, since I'm well, you
may be twice as ill as ever, if you choose.
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