“What, to cry? Oh no. It comes natural to a girl, but it is dreadful in a man. And there is not much to cry about either,” said Nelly. “It is not Mrs. Frederick that makes me unhappy, Mr. Vane; it is that poor mamma must feel what I once said to you, that we are all trying to get as much out of her as ever we can. Why should she have given up her own comforts to let Frederick marry? If papa had been alive, no one would have expected him to do it; but because mamma is a woman, Frederick and everybody think she should give in continually. Do you think it is just or right? Why should she give up all she has been used to, to give us things we have no need of? First her carriage, and now her old servants; and she talks even of letting the dear old house. Mr. Vane, perhaps I ought not to talk like this to you--but do you think it is right? Should not a man try when he marries to make something for himself?” “If I were ever so happy,” said Vane, “that is what I should do. I should like my wife to feel that I was working for her. _My_ wife! That sort of thing is not for me.” “Why shouldn’t it be for you?” said Nelly in a softened tone; but she felt the ground was dangerous, and perhaps she felt that there was a certain inference in all that was being said--a something which implicated others as well as her brother; therefore she hasted to place Frederick in the foreground as the sole subject of discourse. “Perhaps I am too angry with Frederick,” she said; “it is because I feel as if mamma might think we were all alike--all thinking of what she has, not of her; all grasping and wanting something. Rather than she should think that of me I would die.” “She could not think that of you. It would be impossible,” said Vane. “I don’t know,” said Nelly, the tears gathering once more on her down-dropped eyelashes. “Oh, how true it is what mamma says--that nature wrongs women more than law does! Sometimes we are compelled to look different from what we are that people may not see or find out--other things. Sometimes we have to put on false looks to make other people seem true. You men, you don’t know half nor a quarter what poor girls have to do!” This curious and enigmatical outburst filled Vane with feelings which I will not attempt to describe. He thought he understood it, and his whole heart melted over the girl, whose case already, perhaps, he had thought over too much. He put his hand for a moment on hers, not holding it, but giving just one touch of a sympathy which went beyond words. As he did so another tear, slowly brimming over, fell on his hand. Instantly, before he knew, the water stood in his own eyes; Nelly startled, dashed the tear off with her handkerchief, and crying hastily, “Oh, I beg your pardon! I beg your pardon!” covered her hot eyes and flushed face with her hand.