While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down the stairs, and throwing on her shawl and bonnet, went across the street, to confide her troubles with Mary Howard; who, while she sympathized deeply with her young friend, was not surprised, for, from her slight acquaintance with Mrs Lincoln, she could readily believe that one so ambitious and haughty, would seek for her daughter a wealthier alliance than a poor lawyer.  All that she could say to comfort Jenny she did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the best.

“You are blue and dispirited,” said she, “and a little fresh air will do you good.  Suppose we walk round a square or two; for see, the rain is over now.”

Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the length of a street when William himself joined them.  Rightly guessing that her absence would not be noticed, Mary turned suddenly into a side street, leaving William and Jenny to themselves.  From that walk Jenny returned to her home much happier than she left it.  She had seen William,—­had talked with him of the past, present, and future,—­had caught from his hopeful spirit the belief that all would be well in time, and in a far more cheerful frame of mind, she re-entered her sister’s room; and when Rose, who was awake, and noticed the change in her appearance, asked what had happened, she could not forbear telling her.

Rose heard her through, and then very kindly informed her that “she was a fool to care for such a rough-scuff.”

In a few days, preparations were commenced for moving Rose to Glenwood, and in the excitement of getting ready, she in a measure forgot the tallow candles and patchwork bedquilt, the thoughts of which had so much shocked her at first.

“Put in my embroidered merino morning gown,” said she to Jenny, who was packing her trunk, “and the blue cashmere one faced with white satin; and don’t forget my best cambric skirt, the one with so much work on it, for when George Moreland comes to Glenwood I shall want to look as well as possible; and then, too, I like to see the country folks open their mouths, and stare at city fashions.’

“What makes you think George will come to Glenwood?” asked Jenny, as she packed away dresses her sister would never wear.

“I know, and that’s enough,” answered Rose; “and now, before you forget it, put in my leghorn flat, for if I stay long, I shall want it; and see how nicely you can fold the dress I wore at Mrs. Russell’s party!”

“Why, Rose, what can you possibly want of that?” asked Jenny, and Rose replied, “Oh, I want to show it to grandma, just to hear her groan over our extravagance, and predict that we’ll yet come to ruin!”

Jenny thought that if Rose could have seen her father that morning, when the bill for the dress and its costly trimmings was presented, she would have wished it removed for ever from her sight.  Early in the winter Mr. Lincoln had seen that all such matters were settled, and of this bill, more recently made, he knew nothing.