therefore strove to conceal from their observation the disappointment she had experienced.  Many a sigh was heaved, however, and many a tear was wiped away ere a letter could be composed that would carry pleasure to the dear group at Glenfern.  She could say nothing of her mother’s tenderness or her sister’s affection, but she dwelt upon the elegance of the one and the beauty of the other.  She could not boast of the warmth of her uncle’s reception, but she praised his good-humour, and enlarged upon Lady Emily’s kindness and attention.  Even Dr. Redgill’s admiration of Scotch breakfasts was given as a bonne bouche for her good old aunts.

“I declare,” said Miss Grizzy, as she ended her fifth perusal of the letter, “Mary must be a happy creature, everybody must allow; indeed I never heard it disputed that Lady Juliana is a most elegant being; and I daresay she is greatly improved since we saw her, for you know that is a long time ago.”

“The mind may improve after a certain age,” replied Jacky, with one of her wisest looks, “but I doubt very much if the person does.”

“If the inside had been like the out, there would have been no need for improvement,” observed Nicky.

“I’m sure you are both perfectly right,” resumed the sapient Grizzy, “and I have not the least doubt but that our dear niece is a great deal wiser than when we knew her; nobody can deny but she is a great deal older; and you know people always grow wiser as they grow older, of course.”

“They ought to do it,” said Jacky, with emphasis.

“But there’s no fool like an old fool,” quoth Nicky.

“What a delightful creature our charming niece Adelaide must be, from Mary’s account,” said Grizzy; “only I can’t conceive how her eyes come to be black.  I’m sure there’s not a black eye amongst us.  The Kilnacroish family are black, to be sure; and Kilnacroish’s great-grandmother was first cousin, once removed, to our grandfather’s aunt, by our mother’s side.  It’s wonderful the length that resemblances run in some old families; and I really can’t account for our niece Adelaide’s black eyes naturally any other way than just through the Kilnacroish family; for I’m quite convinced it’s from us she takes them,—­children always take their eyes from their father’s side; everybody knows that Becky’s, and Bella’s, and Baby’s are all as like their poor father’s as they can stare.”

“There’s no accounting for the varieties of the human species,” said Jacky.

“And like’s an ill mark,” observed Nicky.

“And only think of her being so much taller than Mary, and twins!  I declare it’s wonderful—­I should have thought, indeed I never doubted, that they would have been exactly the same size.  And such a beautiful colour too, when we used to think Mary rather pale; it’s very unaccountable!”

“You forget,” said Jacky, who had not forgot the insult offered to her nursing system eighteen years before; “you forget that I always predicted what would happen.”