“I should be so glad!” said Rose. “What a lovely little thing she is! I hope she’ll like it. I wanted to get up something pretty for her. I think, at this time of the year, lawn teas are a little variety.” “Oh, she’ll like it of course!” said John, with some sinking of heart about the Sunday-school books. There were so many pressing to shake hands with John, and congratulate him, so many histories to tell, so many cases presented for consultation, that it was quite late before they got away; and tea had been waiting for them more than an hour when they returned. Lillie looked pensive, and had that indescribable air of patient martyrdom which some women know how to make so very effective. Lillie had good general knowledge of the science of martyrdom,—a little spice and flavor of it had been gently infused at times into her demeanor ever since she had been at Springdale. She could do the uncomplaining sufferer with the happiest effect. She contrived to insinuate at times how she didn’t complain,—how dull and slow she found her life, and yet how she endeavored to be cheerful. “I know,” she said to John when they were by themselves, “that you and Grace both think I’m a horrid creature.” “Why, no, dearest; indeed we don’t.” “But you do, though; oh, I feel it! The fact is, John, I haven’t a particle of constitution; and, if I should try to go on as Grace does, it would kill me in a month. Ma never would let me try to do any thing; and, if I did, I was sure to break all down under it: but, if you say so, I’ll try to go into this school.” “Oh, no, Lillie! I don’t want you to go in. I know, darling, you could not stand any fatigue. I only wanted you to take an interest,—just to go and see them for my sake.” “Well, John, if you must go, and must keep it up, I must try to go. I’ll go with you next Sunday. It will make my head ache perhaps; but no matter, if you wish it. You don’t think badly of me, do you?” she said coaxingly, playing with his whiskers. “No, darling, not the least.” “I suppose it would be a great deal better for you if you had married a strong, energetic woman, like your sister. I do admire her so; but it discourages me.” “Darling, I’d a thousand times rather have you what you are,” said John; for— “What she wills to do, Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.” “O John! come, you ought to be sincere.” “Sincere, Lillie! I am sincere.” “You really would rather have poor, poor little me than a woman like Gracie,—a great, strong, energetic woman?” And Lillie laid her soft cheek down on his arm in pensive humility.