Betty Leicester by Sarah Orne Jewett — Read

TWO persons sat at a small breakfast-table near an open window, high up / in Young's Hotel in Boston. It was a pleasant June morning, just after / eight o'clock, and they could see the white clouds blowing over; but the / gray walls of the Court House were just opposite, so that one cannot say / much of their view of the world. The room was pleasanter than most hotel / rooms, and the persons at breakfast were a girl of fifteen, named Betty / Leicester, and her father. Their friends thought them both good-looking, / but it ought to be revealed in this story just what sort of good looks / they had, since character makes the expression of people's faces. But / this we can say, to begin with: they had eyes very much alike, very / kind and frank and pleasant, and they had a good fresh color, as if they / spent much time out-of-doors. In fact, they were just off the sea, / having come in only two days before on the Catalonia from Liverpool; and / the Catalonia, though very comfortable, had made a slower voyage than / some steamers do in coming across.

They had nearly finished breakfast, but Betty was buttering one more / nice bit of toast to finish her marmalade, while Mr. Leicester helped / himself to more strawberries. They both looked a little grave, as if / something important were to be done when breakfast was over; and if you / had sat in the third place by the table, and, instead of looking out of / the window, had looked to right and left into the bedrooms that opened / at either hand, you would guess the reason. In Betty's room, on her / table, were ulster and her umbrella and her traveling-bag beside a / basket, these last being labeled "Miss E. Leicester, Tideshead; " and in / the room opposite was a corresponding array, excepting that the labels / read, "T. Leicester, Windsor Hotel, Montreal. " So for once the girl and / her father were going in different directions.