She sat still, looking a little contumacious, and very much indisposed to stir. She was flushed with the fire. Her dark hair had been more than once dishevelled by the morning wind that day. Her attire was a light, neatly fitting, but amply flowing dress of muslin; the shawl she had worn in the garden was still draped in a careless fold round her. Indolent, wilful, picturesque, and singularly pretty was her aspect--prettier than usual, as if some soft inward emotion, stirred who knows how, had given new bloom and expression to her features.
"Shirley, Shirley, you ought to go," whispered Caroline.
"I wonder why?"
She lifted her eyes, and saw in the glass over the fireplace both Mr. Hall and Louis Moore gazing at her gravely.
"If," she said, with a yielding smile--"if a majority of the present company maintain that the De Walden Hall people have claims on my civility, I will subdue my inclinations to my duty. Let those who think I ought to go hold up their hands."

She sat still, looking unwilling to stir, and flushed with the fire. Her dark hair was dishevelled; wilful she looked, and singularly pretty - prettier than usual, as if some soft inward emotion had given new bloom to her features.
"Shirley, Shirley, you ought to go," whispered Caroline.
"If most of those present tell me to go, I will do my duty. Let those who think I ought to go hold up their hands."
