This opinion became prevalent in the neighborhood.  That Dr. Lester should be willing to take charge of an unknown girl did not astonish those who knew of his many charitable deeds.  It was not more than he had done for his cousin’s child, who had no especial claim upon him.  He had adopted Lawrence Egerton, educated him, sent him to college, and was giving him every advantage in his study of the law.  In the end Lawrence would probably marry Celia and the pretty property that the Doctor would leave behind for his daughter.

“She is one of my patients,” the Doctor would say, to any one who asked him about her.

The tale that she was the daughter of an Italian refugee became more rife after Isabella had begun to study Italian.  She liked to have the musical Italian words linger on her tongue.  She quoted Italian poetry, read Italian history.  In conversation, she generally talked of the present, rarely of the past or of the future.  She listened with wonder to those who had a talent for reminiscence.  How rich their past must be, that they should be willing to dwell in it!  Her own she thought very meagre.  If she wanted to live in the past, it must be in the past of great men, not in that of her own little self.  So she read of great painters and great artists, and because she read of them she talked of them.  Other people, in referring to bygone events, would say, “When I was in Trenton last summer,”—­“In Cuba the spring that we were there”; but Isabella would say, “When Raphael died, or when Dante lived.”  Everybody liked to talk with her,—­laughed with her at her enthusiasm.  There was something inspiring, too, in this enthusiasm; it compelled attention, as her air and manner always attracted notice.  By her side, the style and elegance of the Misses Tarletan faded out; here was a moon that quite extinguished the light of their little tapers.  She became the centre of admiration; the young girls admired her, as they are prone to admire some one particular star.  She never courted attention, but it was always given.

“Isabella attracts everybody,” said Celia to her mother.  “Even the old Mr. Spencers, who have never been touched by woman before, follow her, and act just as she wills.”

Little Celia, who had been quite a belle hitherto, sunk into the shade by the side of the brilliant Isabella.  Yet she followed willingly in the sunny wake that Isabella left behind.  She expanded somewhat, herself, for she was quite ashamed to know nothing of all that Isabella talked about so earnestly.  The sewing gave place to a little reading, to Mrs. Lester’s horror.  The Mountforts and the Gibbses met with Isabella and Celia to read and study, and went into town with them to lectures and to concerts.

A winter passed away and another summer came.  Still Isabella was at Dr. Lester’s; and with the lapse of time the harder did it become for the Doctor to question her of her past history,—­the more, too, was she herself weaned from it.