"Have you, mamma?" said Julia, scarcely above a whisper.

"Why, you know I have. But I said to myself it was no use forcing
confidence. I thought I would be very patient, and wait till you came to
me with it; so now, what is it, my darling? Why do you speak of one thing
and think of another? and cry without any reason that your mother can
see?"

"I don't know, mamma," said Julia, hiding her head. "I think it is
because I sleep so badly. I rise in the morning hot and quivering, and
more tired then I lay down."

Mrs. Dodd inquired how long this had been.

Julia did not answer this question; she went on, with her face still
hidden: "Mamma, I do feel so depressed and hysterical, or else in violent
spirits: but not nice and cheerful as you are, and I used to be; and I go
from one thing to another, and can settle to nothing--even in church I
attend by fits and starts: I forgot to water my very flowers last night:
and I heard Mrs. Maxley out of my window tell Sarah I am losing my
colour. Am I? But what does it matter? I am losing my sense; for I catch
myself for ever looking in the glass, and that is a sure sign of a fool,
you know. And I cannot pass the shops: I stand and look in, and long for
the very dearest silks, and for diamonds in my hair." A deep sigh
followed the confession of these multiform imperfections; and the culprit
half raised her head to watch their effect.

As for Mrs. Dodd, she opened her eyes wide with surprise; but at the end
of the heterogeneous catalogue she smiled, and said, "I cannot believe
_that._ If ever there was a young lady free from personal vanity, it is