The personal attractions that distinguished Mrs. Linley were not
derived from the short-lived beauty which depends on youth and
health. Pale as she was, her face preserved its fine outline; her
features had not lost their grace and symmetry of form.
Presenting the appearance of a woman who had suffered acutely,
she would have been more than ever (in the eyes of some men) a
woman to be admired and loved.

"I seldom sleep well now," she answered, patiently.

"You don't give yourself a chance," Mrs. Presty remonstrated.
"Here's a fine morning--come out for a sail on the lake.
To-morrow there's a concert in the town--let's take tickets.
There's a want of what I call elastic power in your mind,
Catherine--the very quality for which your father was so
remarkable; the very quality which Mr. Presty used to say made
him envy Mr. Norman. Look at your dress! Where's the
common-sense, at your age, of wearing nothing but black? Nobody's
dead who belongs to us, and yet you do your best to look as if
you were in mourning."

"I have no heart, mamma, to wear colors."

Mrs. Presty considered this reply to be unworthy of notice. She
went on with her knitting, and only laid it down when the servant
brought in the letters which had arrived by the morning's post.
They were but two in number--and both were for Mrs. Linley. In
the absence of any correspondence of her own, Mrs. Presty took
possession of her daughter's letters.