“Hush, Cornelia!  Why, you need Pauline’s tuition about as much as Fred Vincent, I am disposed to think.  Don’t be so inquisitive; it pains her,” remonstrated Clara, laying her arm around Beulah’s shoulder as she spoke.

“Nonsense!  She is not so fastidious, I will warrant.  At least, she might answer civil questions.”

“I always do,” said Beulah.

Cornelia smiled derisively, and turned off, with the parting taunt: 

“It is a mystery to me what Eugene can see in such a homely, unpolished specimen.  He pities her, I suppose.”

Clara felt a long shiver creep over the slight form, and saw the ashen hue that settled on her face, as if some painful wound had been inflicted.  Stooping down, she whispered: 

“Don’t let it trouble you.  Cornelia is hasty, but she is generous, too, and will repent her rudeness.  She did not intend to pain you; it is only her abrupt way of expressing herself.”

Beulah raised her head, and, putting back the locks of hair that had fallen over her brow, replied coldly: 

“It is nothing new; I am accustomed to such treatment.  Only professing to love Eugene I did not expect her to insult one whom he had commissioned her to assist, or at least sympathize with.”

“Remember, Beulah, she is an only child, and her father’s idol, and perhaps—­”

“The very blessings that surround her should teach her to feel for the unfortunate and unprotected,” interrupted the orphan.

“You will find that prosperity rarely has such an effect upon the heart of its favorite,” answered Clara musingly.

“An unnecessary piece of information.  I discovered that pleasant truth some time since,” said Beulah bitterly.

“I don’t know, Beulah; you are an instance to the contrary.  Do not call yourself unfortunate, so long as Dr. Hartwell is your friend.  Ah! you little dream how blessed you are.”

Her voice took the deep tone of intense feeling, and a faint glow tinged her cheek.

“Yes, he is very kind, very good,” replied the other, more gently.

“Kind! good!  Is that all you can say of him?” The soft brown eyes kindled with unwonted enthusiasm.

“What more can I say of him than that he is good?” returned the orphan eagerly, while the conversation in the study, the preceding day, rushed to her recollection.

Clara looked at her earnestly for a moment, and then averting her head, answered evasively: 

“Pardon me; I have no right to dictate the terms in which you should mention your benefactor.”  Beulah’s intuitions were remarkably quick, and she asked slowly: 

“Do you know him well?”

“Yes; oh, yes! very well indeed.  Why do you ask?”

“And you like him very much?”

“Very much.”

She saw the gentle face now, and saw that some sorrow had called tears to the eyes, and sent the blood coldly back to her heart.