His sister Rebecca--tall, erect, with grand lace, in a splendid stiff
brocade, and with a fine fan--was certainly five-and-fifty, but still
wonderfully fresh, and sometimes had quite a pretty little pink
colour--perfectly genuine--in her cheeks; command sat in her eye and
energy on her lip--but though it was imperious and restless, there was
something provokingly likeable and even pleasant in her face. Her niece,
Gertrude, the general's daughter, was also tall, graceful--and, I am
told, perfectly handsome.
'Be the powers, she's mighty handsome!' observed 'Lieutenant Fireworker'
O'Flaherty, who, being a little stupid, did not remember that such a
remark was not likely to pleasure the charming Magnolia Macnamara, to
whom he had transferred the adoration of a passionate, but somewhat
battered heart.
'They must not see with my eyes that think so,' said Mag, with a
disdainful toss of her head.
'They say she's not twenty, but I'll wager a pipe of claret she's
something to the back of it,' said O'Flaherty, mending his hand.
'Why, bless your innocence, she'll never see five-and-twenty, and a bit
to spare,' sneered Miss Mag, who might more truly have told that tale of
herself.
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