"You are quite right, Clare; never betray a trust, however unimportant it may seem." "I knew you would say so; but I hate to keep anything from you or Margery." And she would spring from her seat and kiss them both, as if to make amends for her involuntary reticence. From the time the two were children, Barbara Molesworth used to say, "Miss Clare will make many a heart ache before she grows up." Clare shook her sunny locks, and treasured the remark in her memory, with a keen appreciation of its meaning. To Margery, on the contrary, it had a terrible sound, and she said— "Nurse, I hope I shall never make any heart ache. I want to be like my mother, and then people will be made glad instead of sorry by what I do." "Heaven bless you, my precious!" replied Barbara. "You frame to be like your mother. You will not carry your sunshine on your head only, but in your kind heart and loving lips, and you will share it alike with rich and poor. People will run after Miss Clare for her pretty face and ways, and she will say pretty words, too; but when they want deeds as well as words, or a friend on a dark day, they will come to you." "But I love Clare, and I never want to take anything from her," was always the answer; and Margery meant it. She took it as the natural thing that admirers should cluster round Clare, though they might have left her to do so. She excelled her adopted sister in many accomplishments, but she kept these in the background, that Clare's might be the more conspicuous, and the latter knew how to make the most of her own. Both were musical, and had exquisite voices; but Margery's love was so genuine, her admiration of Clare so unselfish, that she would be content to accompany her, and to play the part of listener only, while others praised the singer, without knowing that the elder girl was hiding her light, that the other's might shine more brightly. To exalt Clare cost Margery nothing; for true love effaces self, and she was the happier for the admiration so freely showered on her sister. Yet some were indignant as they looked on, and blamed Mrs. Austin for allowing this. They were mostly people who knew that Clare was not her daughter. Many did not know it; for no difference was made between them, and Mrs. Austin spoke of both as her daughters. "Miss Austin effaces herself," said a French lady who came regularly to Monks Lea to converse with the girls in her own language. "It would be well if she were more often seen apart from Miss Clare, who is charming, but a little of the actress, though I doubt if she knows it. It is her second nature, born in the child, who deems it her mission to please. And so she does; she delights every one; she makes them think well of themselves and of her. They go, believing she will love them always, and she—well, they pass from her mind, and others take their places, to be pleased and forgotten in turn."