All Is Not Gold That Glitters by Ann Maria Hall

Years passed; the lovely children, who tripped hand in hand down the street of Abbeyweld, grew into ripe girlhood, and walked arm in arm -- the pride and admiration of every villager. The curate became at last rector, and Mrs. Myles's absurdities increased with her years. The perfect beauty of the cousins, both of face and form, rendered them celebrated far and near. Each had a separate character as from the first; and yet -- but that Rose Dillon was a little shorter than her cousin Helen Marsh, and that the _expression_ of her eyes was so different that it was almost impossible to believe they were the same shape and colour, the cousins might have been mistaken for each other -- I say _might_, because it is rather remarkable that they never were.

Helen's fine dark eyes had a lofty and forbidding aspect, while Rose had not the power, if indeed she ever entertained the will, of looking either the one or the other. I thought Rose the most graceful of the two in her carriage, but there could be no doubt as to Helen's being the most dignified; both girls were almost rustic in their manners, but rusticity and vulgarity are very distinct in their feelings and attributes. They _could not_ do or say aught that was vulgar or at variance with the kindnesses of life -- those tender nothings which make up so large a something in the account of every day's existence. Similar, withal, as the cousins were in appearance, they grew up as dissimilar in feelings and opinions as it is possible to conceive, and yet loving each other dearly. Still Helen never for a moment fancied that any one in the village of Abbeyweld could compete with her in any way.