After many inquiries, and much consultation with her particular friend Mrs. Ashley, my aunt at last decided to send me to Madam ——’s school; while Anna, after a two weeks’ siege with dress-makers, was introduced into society, where, if she was not a reigning belle, she was at least a favorite; and more than once I heard the most flattering compliments bestowed upon _her_, while it was thought to be “a pity that her sister was so _plain_ and unpretending in her appearance!” CHAPTER XII. ADA MONTROSE. Aunt Charlotte, Anna, and myself were sitting in the parlor one morning, about four weeks after our arrival in Boston, when the door-bell rang, and the servant ushered in a young lady, who I readily guessed was Ada Montrose, for there was about her an air of languor, as if she had just arisen from a sick bed. All doubt on this point was soon settled by my aunt’s exclaiming, as she hastened to greet her, “Why, Ada, my child, this is a surprise. How do you do?” The voice which answered was, I thought, the sweetest and most musical I had ever heard, and yet there was in it something which made me involuntarily shudder. I do not know that I believe in _presentiments_, but sure I am that the moment I heard the tones of Ada Montrose’s voice, and looked upon her face, I experienced a most disagreeable sensation, as if, in some way or other, _she_ would one day cross my path. She was beautiful—so beautiful, that it seemed impossible to detect a single fault either in her features or complexion, though there was in the former an expression which made me feel, when her eyes were fixed upon me, much as the bird must when charmed by the rattlesnake. Do what I would, I could not rid myself of the idea that she was my _evil genius_, though how in any way she, a proud southern belle, could ever affect me, a plain school-girl of fourteen, was difficult to tell. She was, as I afterwards learned, twenty-two years of age, but being rather diminutive in size, and affecting a great deal of childish simplicity, she passed for four or five years younger; and, indeed, she herself gave her age as eighteen—looking up to Anna, who was really two years her junior, as a very ancient, matronly sort of person, who was supposed to remember as far back as the flood. Divesting herself of her warm wrappings, which she left upon the floor, and shaking out her long curls, she informed my aunt that she had come to spend the day, saying, by way of apologizing for not having sent her word, that “she had ventured to come without an invitation, she felt herself so perfectly at home.”