Barlow, Lovell's mother, presented a charmingly antique
appearance--antique not in the sense of advanced years, but the young
antique--the gay, the lively, the never-fading antique. She had even a
girlish way of simpering and uttering absurdly rapturous exclamations.
Her face might have struck one at first as being of a strangely elongated
cast, but for its extreme prettiness and simplicity of expression. Her
nose was marked by a becoming scallop or two. Her eyes were of the ocean
blue. Her dark hair was arranged, behind, in the simplest and most
compact manner possible but, in front, art held delightful play. There,
it was parted, slightly to the left, over a broad, high forehead, and
disposed in braids of eight strands each, gracefully and lovingly looped
over Mrs. Barlow's ears.
The tide of cheerful converse was at its full when I came from school to
lunch. Amid this preponderance of female society, my friend, Grandpa,
shone with an ardent though faintly tolerated light, giving to the lively
flow of the discourse, an occasional salty and comprehensive flavor,
which dear Grandma Keeler held herself ever in calm and religious
readiness to restrain.
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