Miss Henny Fret was turned of nine years old. She was very prettily
made, and remarkably genteel. All her features were regular. She was not
very fair, and looked pale. Her upper lip seemed rather shorter than it
should be; for it was drawn up in such a manner, as to show her upper
teeth; and though this was in some degree natural, yet it had been very
much increased by her being continually on the fret for every trifling
accident that offended her, or on every contradiction that was offered
to her. When you came to examine her face, she had not one feature but
what was pretty; yet, from that constant uneasiness which appeared in
her countenance, it gave you so little pleasure to look at her, that she
seldom had common justice done her, but had generally hitherto passed
for a little insignificant plain girl, though her very face was so
altered since she was grown good natured, and had got the better of that
foolish fretfulness she used to be possessed of, that she appeared from
her good-humoured smiles quite a different person; and, with a mild
aspect, thus began her story: