John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. The sun never shone upon a lovelier couple than now approached the altar. “For instance?” She smiled. Clientèle was of the most transitory character. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition.
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