d that if not
directed for good, it might not improbably direct itself for evil.
It was impossible that she should ever grow into a piece of domestic
furniture, contented to adapt itself to such uses as a marital tyrant
might think fit to require of it. If destined to fall into good
hands, she might become a happy, loving wife; but it was quite as
possible that she should be neither happy nor loving.

Like most other girls, she no doubt thought much of what might be her
lot in love--thought much of loving, though she had never yet loved.
It has been said that her turn of mind was manly; but it must not
on that account be imagined that her wishes and aspirations were at
present other than feminine. Her heart and feeling's were those of a
girl, at any rate as yet; but her will and disposition were masculine
in their firmness.

For one so young, she had great and dangerous faults of
character--great, as being injurious to her happiness; and dangerous,
as being likely to grow with her years. Her faults were not young
faults. Though true herself, she was suspicious of others; though
trustworthy, she was not trustful: and what person who is not
trustful ever remains trustworthy? Who can be fit for confidence who
cannot himself confide? She was imperious, too, when occasion offered
itself to her proud spirit. With her aunt, whom she loved, she was
not so. Her she was content to persuade, using a soft voice and a
soft eye; but with those whom she could not persuade and wished to
rule, her voice was sometimes stern enough, and her eye far from
soft.

She was a clever girl, capable of talking well, and possessed of more
information than most young ladies of the same age. She had been at
an excellent school, if any schools are really excellent for young
ladies; but there was, nevertheless, something in her style of
thought hardly suitable to the softness of girlhood. She could speak
of sacred things with a mocking spirit, the mockery of philosophy
rather than of youth; she had little or no enthusiasm, though there
was passion enough deep seated in her bosom; she suffered from
no transcendentalism; she saw nothing through a halo of poetic
inspiration: among the various tints of her atmosphere there was no
rose colour; she preferred wit to poetry; and her smile was cynical
rather than joyous.

Now I have described my donna primissima, with hardly sufficient
detail for my own satisfaction, doubtless with far too much for
yours