Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie’s and ’Lena’s manner toward Mrs. Graham.  Even Durward noticed it, and while he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of the latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had met his mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his life felt a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in an elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and tassels, which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a fawning servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady in question.  Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her wealth and her husband’s station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor her daughters rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was forgotten, for nothing could be more flattering than their attentions.  Both mother and daughter having the son in view, did their best, and when at last Mrs. Graham asked to be shown to her room, Carrie, instead of ringing for a servant, offered to conduct her thither herself; whereupon Mrs. Graham laid her hand caressingly upon her shoulders, calling her a “dear little pet,” and asking “where she stole those bright, naughty eyes!”

A smothered laugh from John Jr. and a certain low soft sound which he was in the habit of producing when desirous of reminding his sister of her nose, made the “bright, naughty eyes” flash so angrily, that even Durward noticed it, and wondered if ’Lena’s temper had not been transferred to her cousin.

“That young girl—­’Lena, I think you call her—­is a relative of yours,” said Mrs. Graham to Carrie, as they were ascending the stairs.

“Ye-es, our cousin, I suppose,” answered Carrie.

“She bears a very aristocratic name, that of Rivers—­does she belong to a Virginia family?”

Carrie looked mysterious and answered, “I never knew anything of her father, and indeed, I reckon no one does”—­then after a moment she added, “Almost every family has some objectionable relative, with which they could willingly dispense.”

“Very true,” returned Mrs. Graham, “What a pity we couldn’t all have been born in England.  There, dear, you can leave me now.”

Accordingly Carrie started for the parlor, meeting in the hall her mother, who was in a sea of trouble concerning the dinner.  “Old Milly,” she said, “had gone to bed out of pure hatefulness, pretending she had got a collapse, as she called it.”

“Can’t Hagar do,” asked Carrie, anxious that Mrs. Graham’s first dinner with them should be in style.

“Yes, but she can’t do everything—­somebody must superintend her, and as for burning myself brown over the dishes and then coming to the table, I won’t.”

“Why not make ’Lena go into the kitchen—­it won’t hurt her to-day more than it did yesterday,” suggested Carrie.