Whit-Tuesday saw her rise almost with the sun. She, Fanny, and Eliza were busy the whole morning arranging the rectory parlours in first-rate company order, and setting out a collation of cooling refreshments--wine, fruit, cakes--on the dining-room sideboard. Then she had to dress in her freshest and fairest attire of white muslin: the perfect fineness of the day and the solemnity of the occasion warranted, and even exacted, such costume. Her new sash--a birthday present from Margaret Hall, which she had reason to believe Cyril himself had bought, and in return for which she had indeed given him a set of cambric bands in a handsome case--was tied by the dexterous fingers of Fanny, who took no little pleasure in arraying her fair young mistress for the occasion. Her simple bonnet had been trimmed to correspond with her sash; her pretty but inexpensive scarf of white crape suited her dress. When ready she formed a picture, not bright enough to dazzle, but fair enough to interest; not brilliantly striking, but very delicately pleasing--a picture in which sweetness of tint, purity of air, and grace of mien atoned for the absence of rich colouring and magnificent contour. What her brown eye and clear forehead showed of her mind was in keeping with her dress and face--modest, gentle, and, though pensive, harmonious. It appeared that neither lamb nor dove need fear her, but would welcome rather, in her look of simplicity and softness, a sympathy with their own natures, or with the natures we ascribe to them.
After all, she was an imperfect, faulty human being, fair enough of form, hue, and array, but, as Cyril Hall said, neither so good nor so great as the withered Miss Ainley, now putting on her best black gown and Quaker drab shawl and bonnet in her own narrow cottage chamber.

Whit-Tuesday saw Caroline rise almost with the sun. She, Fanny, and Eliza were busy the whole morning arranging the rectory parlours, and setting out refreshments - wine, fruit, cakes - on the dining-room sideboard. Then she had to dress in her freshest white muslin, as befitted the solemn occasion. Her new sash - a birthday present from Margaret Hall, which she had reason to believe Cyril himself had bought - was tied by Fanny, who took pleasure in arraying her fair young mistress for the occasion. Caroline's simple bonnet had been trimmed to match her sash.
When ready she formed a picture, not dazzling, but delicately pleasing. Her expression, like her dress, was modest, gentle, and, though pensive, harmonious. After all, she was an imperfect, faulty human being, fair enough of form, but, as Cyril Hall said, neither so good nor so great as the withered Miss Ainley, now putting on her best black gown and drab shawl and bonnet in her own narrow cottage.
