Mrs. Adams was a pretty, graceful
little woman, with a dainty charm about her, and a winning, off-
hand manner, which made her a favorite with both young and old.
Aunt Jane Roberts was tall and thin, with a cast-iron sort of
countenance, surmounted by a row of little, tight, gray frizzles
of such remarkable durability that, though evidently the result of
art rather than nature, neither wind nor storm, appeared to have
any effect upon them. On festal occasions it was her habit to
adorn herself with a symmetrical little blue satin bow, placed
above these curls and slightly to one side; but there was nothing
in the least flippant or coquettish about this decoration, for it
was as precise and unvarying as the gray frizz below it, and only
seemed to intensify the hard, unyielding lines of her face.
Miss Roberts was fifteen years older than her sister, and she
appeared to have been stamped with the seal of single blessedness
while she still lay in her cradle and played with her rattle;--
that is, if she ever had unbent so far as to play with anything.
Even her walk was not like that of most women; she moved along
with a slow, deliberate stride which was at times almost spectral,
and reminded one of the resistless, onward march of the fates.
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