George MacDonald

The Elect Lady George MacDonald

In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse-for there were utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually grow upon a farm-with the corner of a white deal table between them, sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, but a little hard, and not a little regnant-as such features must be, except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. As to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its share in the labor of production.