eker appears. A glance at his clear-cut aristocratic features goes a long way towards deciding the question of the origin of the good looks of "those Rectory children."
He is a tall man--six feet two,--and although he is barely fifty his hair is specklessly white. He looks more like a great prelate or statesman than a country parson. Perhaps he might have been one or the other, had he been born the eldest son of the eldest son of a peer, instead of the youngest son of the youngest. And again, perhaps not. The lines of his face indicate brain rather than character, and after all it is character that brings us out top in this world. There are furrows about his forehead that tell of much study; but about the corners of his mouth, where promptitude and decision usually set their seal, there is nothing--nothing but a smile of rare sweetness. His gentle blue eyes have the dreamy gaze that marks the saints and poets of this world: the steely glitter of the man of action is lacking. Altogether you would say th
The author paints a charming, Louisa May Alcott-like picture of a poor rector's family and the eldest daughter who acts as mother to her siblings, but it all goes downhill when she enters into a loveless marriage of convenience to aid her struggling family. Her husband, a much older man known as an unyielding man of business, has no idea of how to relate to his child bride. The predictable fallout is much less well fleshed out, as well as less appealing.