But for this she did not care.  She knew she was loved by Anna, and liked by John Jr., and she hoped—­nay, half believed—­that she was not wholly indifferent to her uncle, who, while he seldom made any show of his affection, still in his heart admired and felt proud of her.  With his wife it was different.  She hated ’Lena—­hated her because she was beautiful and talented, and because in her presence Carrie and Anna were ever in the shade.  Still her niece was too general a favorite in the neighborhood to allow of open hostility at home, and so the proud woman ground together her glittering teeth—­and waited!

Among the many who admired ’Lena, there was no one who gave her such full and unbounded homage as did her grandmother, whose life at Maple Grove had been one of shadow, seldom mingled with sunshine.  Gradually had she learned the estimation in which she was held by her son’s wife, and she felt how bitter it was to eat the bread of dependence.  As far as she was able, ’Lena shielded her from the sneers of her aunt, who thinking she had done all that was required of her when she fixed their room, would for days and even weeks appear utterly oblivious of their presence, or frown darkly whenever chance threw them in her way.  She had raised no objection to ’Lena’s continuing a pupil of Mr. Everett, who, she hoped, would not prove indifferent to her charms, fancying that in this way she would sooner be rid of one whom she feared as a rival of her daughters.

But she was mistaken; for much as Malcolm Everett might admire ’Lena, another image than hers was enshrined in his heart, and most carefully guarded was the little golden curl, cut in seeming sport from the head it once adorned, and, now treasured as a sacred memento of the past.  Believing that it would be so because she wished it to be so, Mrs. Livingstone had more than once whispered to her female friends her surmises that Malcolm Everett would marry ’Lena, and at the time of which we are speaking, it was pretty generally understood that a strong liking, at least, if not an engagement, existed between them.

Old Captain Atherton, grown more smooth and portly, rubbed his fat hands complacently, and while applying Twigg’s Preparation to his hair, congratulated himself that the only rival he had ever feared was now out of his way.  Thinking, too, that ’Lena had conferred a great favor upon himself by taking Mr. Everett from off his mind, became exceedingly polite to her, making her little presents and frequently asking her to ride.  Whenever these invitations were accepted, they were sure to be followed by a ludicrous description to Anna, who laughed merrily over her cousin’s letters, declaring herself half jealous of her “gray-haired lover,” as she termed the captain.