And well might she say so. Amy was all gentleness, so quiet in her movements; there was something soft and amiable about her; you loved her you scarcely knew or asked yourself why. Julia was all roughness, bustling about, setting the room to rights--Miss Tremlow's,--whenever she entered it; talking and laughing the while, and endeavouring to persuade the unfortunate individual that it was not possible she could feel otherwise than ill, when she never exerted herself or tried to get better. Her too you loved, and loving her overlooked her faults; but she obliged you to love her, she did not gain a place in your heart at once as Amy did. Very different they were in temper and disposition; Julia hasty and passionate; Amy forbearing and rarely roused; but at times her father's proud, fiery spirit flashed forth, and then how beautiful she looked in her indignation. "I think I read to the end of the sixth chapter," said Amy, taking up a book and opening it; "for I foolishly forgot to put in a mark." Amy read every day to Miss Tremlow, and thus whiled away many a weary hour that would have passed wearily for the invalid. "You need not read to-day, my dear, you will tire yourself; so never mind where we were. I hope myself to be able to read soon." "I shall not be in the least tired; I like reading. Shall I begin?" Miss Tremlow fidgeted and moved restlessly among the cushions, and then said wearily-- "Do you know, my dear, I think it will be too much for me; I feel so tired with the exertion of getting up." The book was instantly closed, Miss Tremlow feeling quite relieved when it was laid down. "You are not vexed, Miss Neville, I hope. Your reading has been such a treat to me, when otherwise I should have been so dull and stupid." "Indeed, no, it has been quite a pleasure to me; but you do look weary and tired. Shall I pour you out a glass of wine?" "No, my dear, no; there is not the slightest occasion for it. And now let us talk of something else; you shall tell me all about the visitors, so that they may not be quite strangers to me when we meet." "I have not seen any of them, except Mrs. Bennet and her daughters, and Mrs. Strickland and hers." "But you go down of an evening, and surely there are other visitors." "I always used to spend my evenings with Mrs. Linchmore; but within the last week I have remained upstairs, thinking I should be sent for if wanted, and as no enquiries have been made, I conclude my absence is not noticed; or if noticed I am only doing what is usual in such cases." "Mrs. Linchmore is very foolish, and ought to have you down; you are too pretty and young to be allowed to mope upstairs by yourself. You may smile, but youth does not last for ever; it too soon fades away, and then you will become a useless, fidgetty old maid, like myself; no one to love or care for you, and all those who ought to love and take care of you wishing you dead, that they may quarrel for the little money you leave behind."