"It's not so much matter for you, Sarah; for people love you. And besides,
you have a certain kind of beauty: your eyes are beautiful,--rather too
sad, perhaps, but fine in shape and tint; and you have a good head, and a
delicately outlined face. Moreover, you are picturesque: people look at
you, and then look again,--and, any way, love you, don't they?"

"People are very good to me, Jo."

"Oh, yes! we all know that people as a mass are kindly, considerate, and
unselfish; that they are given to loving and admiring disagreeable and
ugly people; in short, that the millennium has come. Sally, my dear, you
are a small hypocrite,--or else--But I think we won't establish a mutual-
admiration society to-night, as there are only two of us; besides, I am
hungry: let us have tea."

The next day, Josephine left me. As we walked together toward the landing
of the steamer, Letty Allis emerged from a green lane to say good-bye, and
down its vista I discerned the handsome, lazy person of Henry Malden, but
I did not inform Letty of my discovery.

A year passed away,--to me with the old monotonous routine; full of work,
not wanting in solace; barren, indeed, of household enjoyments and
vicissitudes; solitary, sometimes desolate, yet peaceful even in monotony.
But this new spring had not come with such serene neglect to the other two
of us three. Against advice, remonstrance, and entreaty from her good
friends, Letty Allis had married Henry Malden, and, in attire more
tasteful, but quite as far from Quakerism as Josephine had predicted,
beamed upon the inhabitants of Slepington from the bow-window, or open
door, of a cottage very _ornée_ indeed; while the odor of a tolerable