“Perhaps she will,” said Letitia, in a faltering voice.

“No, she won’t; because I have no faculty for lying, or playing the hypocrite in any way, and I shan’t approve of her.  These soft, slippery, pretty little fibbing women have always been my abomination.”

“Oh, my dear Grace!” said Miss Ferguson, “do let us make the best of it.”

“I did think,” said Miss Grace, wiping her eyes, “that John had some sense.  I wasn’t such a fool, nor so selfish, as to want him always to live for me.  I wanted him to marry; and if he had got engaged to your Rose, for instance ...  O Letitia!  I always did so hope that he and Rose would like each other.”

“We can’t choose for our brothers,” said Miss Letitia, “and, hard as it is, we must make up our minds to love those they bring to us.  Who knows what good influences may do for poor Lillie Ellis?  She never has had any yet.  Her family are extremely common sort of people, without any culture or breeding, and only her wonderful beauty brought them into notice; and they have always used that as a sort of stock in trade.”

“And John says, in this letter, that she reminds him of our mother,” said Miss Grace; “and he thinks that naturally she was very much such a character.  Just think of that, now!”

“He must be far gone,” said Miss Ferguson; “but then, you see, she is distractingly pretty.  She has just the most exquisitely pearly, pure, delicate, saint-like look, at times, that you ever saw; and then she knows exactly how she does look, and just how to use her looks; and John can’t be blamed for believing in her.  I, who know all about her, am sometimes taken in by her.”

“Well,” said Miss Grace, “Mrs. Lennox was at Newport last summer at the time that she was there, and she told me all about her.  I think her an artful, unscrupulous, unprincipled woman, and her being made mistress of this house just breaks up our pleasant sociable life here.  She has no literary tastes; she does not care for reading or study; she won’t like our set here, and she will gradually drive them from the house.  She won’t like me, and she will want to alienate John from me,—­so there is just the situation.”

“You may read that letter,” added Miss Grace, wiping her eyes, and tossing her brother’s letter into Miss Letitia’s lap.  Miss Letitia took the letter and read it.  “Good fellow!” she exclaimed warmly, “you see just what I say,—­his heart is all with you.”

“Oh, John’s heart is all light enough!” said Miss Grace; “and I don’t doubt his love.  He’s the best, noblest, most affectionate fellow in the world.  I only think he reckons without his host, in thinking he can keep all our old relations unbroken, when he puts a new mistress into the house, and such a mistress.”

“But if she really loves him”—­

“Pshaw! she don’t.  That kind of woman can’t love.  They are like cats, that want to be stroked and caressed, and to be petted, and to lie soft and warm; and they will purr to any one that will pet them,—­that’s all.  As for love that leads to any self-sacrifice, they don’t begin to know any thing about it.”