She was looking prettier than ever, Lucy thought; so blooming, and gay, and graceful, after her seaside sojourn.  Her cousin could not wonder that she won her way to most people’s hearts, and was forced to admit the contrast between her and her fragile little sister, whose faint bloom even now did not remove the appearance of ill-health.  But there was on her pale face a spiritual beauty, a repose and peace, which Stella, in all the loveliness of a pure rose-tinted complexion, lustrous eyes, and gleaming golden hair, did not possess.  It was the reflection, outwardly, of the “peace of God which passeth understanding.”

Stella talked all the evening without ceasing, and at night accompanied Lucy to her room, there to go on talking still, enlarging, in a lively, amusing strain, on the adventures of their seaside life; the “fun,” the “splendid bathing,” the people who were there, their dress, manners, and conversation; all the flirtations she had observed, with the quick eye of a girl who as yet has no personal interest in such matters.  When at last Stella paused in her own narration to ask questions about Oakvale, Lucy gladly took advantage of the break to insist on postponing all further conversation until the morrow, especially as, she urged, they were keeping Amy from the sleep she needed so much after her long journey, and accustomed as she had lately been to early hours.  Lucy indeed felt determined that the same thing must not happen again on any account, as the consequences to Amy of having her mind and nervous system excited so late at night, when she was always too much disposed to wakefulness, might be exceedingly injurious.

“Oh, how I wish Stella were more like dear Mary!” thought Lucy, as she laid her head on her pillow, and compared Mary’s kind thoughtfulness with Stella’s impulsive, flighty giddiness.  As to externals, Stella had very much the advantage, for Mary Eastwood could not be called pretty, and was rather reserved in manner with those whom she did not know well; but Lucy could not help feeling Mary’s great superiority as a companion, when she compared the state of mind in which Stella’s stream of gossip had left her, with the elevating, stimulating tendency of her conversations with Mary on subjects more worthy of immortal beings.  They seemed mutually to draw each other on to a sphere far above the petty frivolities on which so many fritter away powers given for higher ends.  Even when they did not touch on topics directly religious, they seemed to be far nearer the Light that is “inaccessible and full of glory,” when discussing the working of God’s laws and providence in nature and history, than if their minds had been lowered and discoloured by dwelling on the faults, follies, and petty concerns of their neighbours.