The poor beauty had been educated by her silly and romantic old aunt to look forward to making some capital match. "She had such a sweet pretty face, and so many accomplishments of mind and manner," for such was the way the old woman loved to talk. Accomplishments of mind and manner, by the way, are indefinite things; any body may put in a claim for them on the part of any one. As for the more positive acquirements which are to be seen, handled, or heard and appreciated--such as dancing, music, languages, and so forth, Myra had as slender a portion of those as usually falls to the lot of indulged, idle, nervous girls. The poor beauty felt all the bitterness of the deepest mortification at what she considered this cruel contrast of her fate as compared to Catherine's. She had been indulged in that pernicious habit of the mind--the making claims. "With claims no better than her own" was her expression for though Catherine had more money, every body said Catherine was _only_ pretty, which last sentence implied that there was another person of Catherine's acquaintance, who was positively and extremely beautiful. Lettice, happily for herself, had never been accustomed to make "claims." She had, indeed, never distinctly understood whom such claims were to be made upon. She could not quite see why it was very _hard_ that other people should be happier than herself. I am sure she would have been very sorry if she had thought that every body was as uncomfortable. She was always sorry when she heard her sister talking in this manner, partly because she felt it could not be quite right, and partly because she was sure it did no good, but made matters a great deal worse; but she said nothing. Exhortation, indeed, only made matters worse: nothing offended Myra so much as an attempt to make her feel more comfortable, and to reconcile her to the fate she complained of as so _hard_. Even when let alone, it would often be some time before she recovered her good humor; and this was the case now. I am afraid she was a little vexed that Lettice and not herself had met with the good luck first to stumble upon Catherine, and also a little envious of the pleasing impression it was plain her sister had made. So she began to fall foul of Lettice's new bonnet, and to say, in a captious tone, "You got money enough to buy yourself a new bonnet, I see." "Indeed, I did," Lettice answered with simplicity. "It was the very first thing I thought of. Mine was such a wretched thing, and wetted with the snow--the very boys hooted at it. Poor old friend!" said she, turning it upon her hand, "you have lost even the shape and pretension to be a bonnet. What must I do with thee? The back of the fire? Sad fate! No, generous companion of my cares and labors, that shall _not_ be thy destiny. Useful to the last, thou shalt _light_ to-morrow's fire; and that will be the best satisfaction to thy generous manes." "_My_ bonnet is not so _very_ much better," said Myra, rather sulkily.