There was much of bitterness in the last part of this speech, and it grated harshly upon my feelings; but it was like her, I knew, and she had only judged my aunt by what she well knew she should herself be in a similar position; so I took no notice of it, save to assure her that Aunt Charlotte was perfectly willing I should come, while at the same time I expressed my sorrow at finding her so unwell, and asked “what was the matter.” “Oh, nothing much,” said she. “I have no particular disease, unless it be one of the mind, and that you know is not easily cured.” I made no answer to this; but after a moment’s silence, I ventured to inquire for her husband. Instantly there came a bright glow to her cheek, as she replied, “Oh, he is as well as could be expected, considering his terrible disappointment.” Of course I asked what disappointment, whereupon she proceeded to narrate a part of what I have already told to my readers, withholding nearly all the points wherein she had been to blame, and dwelling with apparent delight upon the faults of her husband, who, she protested, was wholly selfish and avaricious. “I know,” said she, “why he married me; ’twas for the sake of the few dollars he thought my grandmother would leave me, and now being disappointed in that, he cares no more for me than he does for _you_—no, nor half so much, for he always preferred you to me, and I wish I had let you have him, for you liked him, I know, better than I did.” As she said this, she looked me steadily in the face, as if to read my inmost soul. I felt provoked, for I now thought of my former affection for the doctor as something of which I was _a little ashamed_, and I did not much like to be reminded of it by his wife. So I ventured to say that “whatever I might once have felt for her husband, it was all over now, and I could think of no greater misfortune than that of being his wife!” _Now_, I should know better than to speak thus to any woman concerning her husband, for however much she may talk against him herself, she certainly has no desire or expectation that her listener will agree with her. On this occasion, Dell grew angry at once, telling me “I needn’t speak so lightly of her husband—he was good enough for anybody,” while at the same time she muttered something about “sour grapes!” I was taken quite aback, and remained silent, until she at last said, laughingly, “I don’t wish to quarrel with you, Rose. Pardon any ill humor I may have manifested. I get nervous and fidgety staying here alone so much.” “Is not the doctor with you sometimes?” I inquired.