Miss Lowther, and her aunt who loved cards, as all the world
did. When my Lady Maria Esmond made her appearance, 'tis certain that
her looks belied Madame Bernstein's account of her. Her shape was very
fine, and her dress showed a great deal of it. Her complexion was by
nature exceeding fair, and a dark frilled ribbon, clasped by a jewel,
round her neck, enhanced its. snowy whiteness. Her cheeks were not
redder than those of other ladies present, and the roses were pretty
openly purchased by everybody at the perfumery-shops. An artful patch
or two, it was supposed, added to the lustre of her charms. Her hoop was
not larger than the iron contrivances which ladies of the present day
hang round their persons; and we may pronounce that the costume, if
absurd in some points, was pleasing altogether. Suppose our ladies took
to wearing of bangles and nose-rings? I dare say we should laugh at the
ornaments, and not dislike them, and lovers would make no difficulty
about lifting up the ring to be able to approach the rosy lips
underneath.

As for the Baroness de Bernstein, when that lady took the pains of
making a grand toilette, she appeared as an object, handsome still, and
magnificent, but melancholy, and even somewhat terrifying to behold.
You read the past in some old faces, while some others lapse into
mere meekness and content. The fires go quite out of some eyes, as the
crow's-feet pucker round them; they flash no longer with scorn, or
with anger, or love; they gaze, and no one is melted by their sapphire
glances; they look, and no one is dazzled. My fair young reader, if
you are not so perfect a beauty as the peerless Lindamira, Queen of the
Ball; if, at the end of it, as you retire to bed, you meekly own that
you have had but two or three partners, whilst Lindamira has had a crowd
round her all night--console yourself with thinking that, at fifty, you
will look as kind and pleasant as you appear now at eighteen. You will
not have to lay down your coach-and-six of beauty and see another step
into it, and walk yourself through the rest of life. You will have
to forgo no long-accustomed homage; you will not witness and own the
depreciation of your smiles. You will not see fashion forsake your
quarter; and remain all dust, gloom, cobwebs within your once splendid
saloons, and placards in your sad windows, gaunt, lonely, and to let!
You may not have known any grandeur, but you won't feel any desertion.
You will not have en