Tears started in Grace’s eyes as she related the circumstances of her parents’ death, and her admission into Mrs. Medway’s family, adding, that though they were all very kind to her, she would remain no longer than until she could procure an independent situation, as she feared, in Mrs. Medway’s circumstances, she was a burden. “Humph!” was the only reply; and then the old gentleman added, “Say nothing about this conversation, if you please, until I give you permission.” Grace willingly acceded; she knew that Mrs. Medway would not like to believe she possessed any claim, however slight, on Uncle Medway’s regard; and although feeling an attachment to him for her grandfather’s sake, had not the slightest idea of endeavoring to rival her cousins. One morning Uncle Medway expressed a desire to drive through the city, and wished one of the ladies to accompany him as a _cicérone_. Matilda’s services were instantly offered, and politely accepted. On their return, Matilda threw herself on a sofa, exclaiming to her mother, “Well, I never was so wearied in all my life; and I consider this splendid dress, which uncle purchased for me at Stewart’s, as very hardly earned. Never will I consent to be driven about, shut up in a carriage with such a perverse, questioning old codger again for a dozen dresses. Why the old man seemed to think I must know the whole history of the city, from its first settlement—we will have to lend him Diedrich Knickerbocker’s book. And then such stopping to admire the churches and other buildings, while groups of fashionables passed and stared; it is an ordeal I never will pass through again.” “The honey-water is exhausted, is it?” asked Sophy. “You gave it in too great quantities at first; well, for my part, I might be induced to take one drive with such a reward in view.” “What is that,” asked the uncle, turning sharply around, “don’t Matilda like her dress?” “Shall I answer for you?” said Sophy. “Oh, yes,” interrupted Mrs. Medway, “she was expressing her admiration and gratitude; but she says she will fear to go with you again, lest you should think her motives interested.” “Humph! the motives are apparent enough!” muttered the old gentleman; then turning to Grace, he said, “Will _you_ accompany me to-morrow, Grace. I promise faithfully that you shall have no reward, save the consciousness of obliging a troublesome old man?” Grace gladly assented, and Mrs. Medway’s consent being given, Grace became the almost daily companion of the old gentleman, who seemed, however, to bestow but little notice on her, lavishing all his preference on Matilda, who was elated with her success.