“Was there ever such a dear, good cousin,” said Lizzie, one day, when a nervous headache had been coaxed away by what Berintha called her “mesmeric passes;” and “Was there ever such a horrid bore,” said Lucy, on the same day, when Cousin Berintha “thought she saw a white hair in Lucy’s raven curls!” adding, by way of consolation, “It wouldn’t be anything strange, for I began to grow gray before I was as old as you.”

“And that accounts tor your head being just the color of wool,” angrily retorted Lucy, little dreaming of the bitter tears and sleepless nights which had early blanched her cousin’s hair to its present whiteness.

For several winters Lucy had been in the habit of giving a large party, and as she had heard that St. Leon was soon going South, she felt anxious to have it take place ere he left town.  But what should she do with Berintha, who showed no indications of leaving, though Lizzie was much better?

“I declare,” said she to herself, “that woman is enough to worry the life out of me.  I’ll speak to Liz about it this very day.”

Accordingly, that afternoon, when alone with her sister, she said, “Lizzie, is it absolutely necessary that Berintha should stay here any longer, to tuck you up, and feed you sage tea through a straw?”

Lizzie looked inquiringly at her sister, who continued:  “To tell you the truth, I’m tired of having her around, and must manage some way to get rid of her before next week, for I mean to have a party Thursday night.”

Lizzie’s eyes now opened in astonishment, as she exclaimed, “A party! oh, Lucy, wait until I get well.”

“You’ll be able by that time to come down-stairs in your crimson morning-gown, which becomes you so well,” answered Lucy.

“But father’s away,” rejoined Lizzie; to which Lucy replied: 

“So much the better, for now I shan’t be obliged to ask any old things.  I told him I meant to have it while he was gone, for you know he hates parties.  But what shall I do with Berintha?”

“Why, what possible harm can she do?” asked Lizzie.  “She would enjoy it very much, I know; for in spite of her oddities, she likes society.”

“Well, suppose she does; nobody wants her round, prating about white hairs and mercy knows what.  Come, you tell her you don’t need her services any longer—­that’s a good girl.”

There was a look of mischief in Lizzie’s eye, and a merry smile on her lip, as she said, “Why, don’t you know that father has invited her to spend the winter, and she has accepted the invitation?”

“Invited her to spend the winter!” repeated Lucy, while the tears glittered in her bright eyes.  “What does he mean?”

“Why,” answered Lizzie, “it is very lonely at Cousin John’s, and his wife makes more of a servant of Berintha than she does a companion, so father, out of pity, asked her to stay with us, and she showed her good taste by accepting.”