” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. She was pensive and thoughtful.
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