She could dare to incur a
great danger for an adequate object. But she was too young as yet to have
become mistress of that persistent courage which was Lady Linlithgow's
peculiar possession.
When the countess entered the drawing-room Lizzie rose upon her legs, but
did not come forward from her chair. The old woman was not tall; but her
face was long, and at the same time large, square at the chin and square
at the forehead, and gave her almost an appearance of height. Her nose was
very prominent, not beaked, but straight and strong, and broad at the
bridge, and of a dark-red colour. Her eyes were sharp and grey. Her mouth
was large, and over it there was almost beard enough for a young man's
moustache. Her chin was firm, and large, and solid. Her hair was still
brown, and was only just grizzled in parts. Nothing becomes an old woman
like gray hair, but Lady Linlithgow's hair would never be gray. Her
appearance, on the whole, was not prepossessing, but it gave one an idea
of honest, real strength. What one saw was not buckram, whalebone, paint,
and false hair. It was all human--hardly feminine, certainly not angelic,
with perhaps a hint in the other direction--but a human body, and not a
thing of pads and patches.
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