Mr. Clifton went to his counting-room, and his wife was left alone.  The compliment her husband had just paid her inclined her to dwell with complacency upon the plan of adopting Susan.  She liked her for her fair countenance and her faultless form, and her quick observation and ready adoption of conventional proprieties.  Her presence, moreover, would attract visitors, who were now less numerous than when Mrs. Clifton was young.  Her name, too, favored the idea of adoption.  The difference between a real and an adopted child would not readily be known.  She made up her mind to adopt her, and would have made known her determination to Susan at once, had not an engagement compelled her to go out.

* * * *

CHAPTER IV.

While Susan was thus left alone for a little season, she employed herself in writing the following letter to her mother—­

“My Dear Mother:  I have been so long without any one to speak to (you know what I mean), that I must write you, though I hope to reach home almost as soon as this letter.  I am treated in the kindest manner possible.  My uncle, I think, really loves me, and I certainly love him very much.  His wife is a splendid woman.  She was once, I doubt not, very beautiful, and she looks exceedingly well now when she is dressed.  She is very polite to me.  I am, I believe, a welcome visitor; and she desires me to stay longer than I engaged to when I left home.  I have not been out much, except with my uncle to see the curiosities with which the city abounds.  I have seen but few of my aunt’s friends.  In truth, I suppose I have pleased her not a little by not wishing to be seen.  I am from the country, you know; though she thinks I am making rapid progress in civilization.  I judge so from the commendation she bestows upon my attempts to avoid singularity.  I remember you used to commend me when I made successful efforts to govern my temper:  aunt commends me for the manner in which I govern my limbs, or rather when they happen to move to please her without being governed.  Last evening (I had not seen uncle since the day before at dinner), I was glad to find him in the parlor as I entered it.  Aunt said to me, ’If you could enter the parlor in that way when company is present, you would make quite a sensation.’  I can hardly help laughing to think what a matter of importance so simple a thing as putting one foot before the other becomes in the city.  I suppose, if I were to live here, I should learn to sleep, and even to breathe, by rule.  I was going to say to think by rule; but thinking is not in fashion.  So far as I can learn, the thinking done here is confined to thinking of what others think about them.  Aunt was originally taught to do everything by rule.  Custom has become with her a second nature.  Her manners are called fascinating; but to me they are formal and chilling.  I suppose they are perfectly well suited to those who desire only the fascinating.  You have taught me to desire something more.