Across the lawn and hovering indecisively, Ann Veronica saw and immediately affected not to see Mr. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. I don’t care.
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