The anguish Mrs. Douglas experienced as she witnessed the changing colour, lifeless step, and forced smile of her darling eleve was not mitigated by the good sense or sympathy of those around her.  While Mary had prospered under her management, in the consciousness that she was fulfilling her duty to the best of her abilities, she could listen with placid cheerfulness to the broken hints of disapprobation, or forced good wishes for the success of her new-fangled schemes, that were levelled at her by the sisters.  But now, when her cares seemed defeated, it was an additional thorn in her heart to have to endure the commonplace wisdom and self-gratulations of the almost exulting aunts; not that they had the slightest intention of wounding the feelings of their niece, whom they really loved, but the temptation was irresistible of proving that they had been in the right and she in the wrong, especially as no such acknowledgment had yet been extorted from her.

“It is nonsense to ascribe Mary’s dwining to her grandfather’s death,” said Miss Jacky.  “We were all nearer to him in propinquity than she was, and none of our healths have suffered.”

“And there’s his own daughters,” added Miss Grizzy, “who, of course, must have felt a great deal more than anybody else—­there can be no doubt of that—­such sensible creatures as them must feel a great deal; but yet you see how they have got up their spirits—­I’m sure it’s wonderful!”

“It shows their sense and the effects of education,” said Miss Jacky.

“Girls that sup their porridge will always cut a good figure,” quoth Nicky.

“With their fine feelings I’m sure we have all reason to be thankful that they have been blest with such hearty stomachs,” observed Miss Grizzy; “if they had been delicate, like poor Mary’s, I’m sure I declare I don’t know what we would have done; for certainly they were all most dreadfully affected at their excellent father’s death; which was quite natural, poor things!  I’m sure there’s no pacifying poor Baby, and even yet, neither Bella nor Betsey can bear to be left alone in a dark room.  Tibby has to sleep with them still every night; and alighted candle too-which is much to their credit—­and yet I’m sure it’s not with reading.  I’m certain-indeed, I think there’s no doubt of it—­that reading does young people much harm.  It puts things into their heads that never would have been there but for books.  I declare, I think reading’s a very dangerous thing; I’m certain all Mary’s bad health is entirely owing to reading.  You know we always thought she read a great deal too much for her good.”

“Much depends upon the choice of books,” said Jacky, with an air of the most profound wisdom, “Fordyce’s Sermons and the History of Scotland are two of the very few books I would put into the hands of a young woman.  Our girls have read little else,”—­casting a look at Mrs. Douglas, who was calmly pursuing her work in the midst of this shower of darts all levelled at her.