"O, Cousin Sophy! you have no idea what a lovely old lady I found there." Not even the curl that distorted Miss Sophy's lip just then prevented her from going on. "She looks as I should imagine an angel might,—I always thought if I made pictures of angels they should be dear old grandmas, and not girls. Her hair is like fine white silk, and waves beautifully. Her eyes are hazel, and they are not old eyes a bit—they are bright and clear. She wore a dove-colored dress, and a soft white mull handkerchief about her neck. And do you know, she is Mrs. Agnew's mother; you remember we saw, Mr. Agnew's death in the paper a few months ago." This last piece of information had the desired effect, for mother and daughter indulged in a bit of gossip concerning it, but Miss Sophy presently returned to the charge. "It is perfectly incomprehensible," she went on, "what you find in a company of poverty-stricken old women to interest you. But then, your mother always had just such tastes; never so happy as when she was poking about in some alley or hovel, among miserable people." If the light had not faded, Cousin Sophy might have seen Esther's cheek pale and flush, and her lips press closely together to keep herself from saying what she should not. But she did not see it; she went on and on in an exasperating manner. Her mother added a word occasionally by way of endorsement and emphasis, and poor Esther had the grace to keep silence, half-wishing that she were an old woman, too, so that she could live where Mrs. Lyman did. In her uncle's luxurious home there was everything to make life desirable—everything but love and peace. When either mother or daughter was in ill humor Esther was the escape valve. They lectured her on behavior, dress, and the Christian virtues. They criticised all she said and did and thought, and judged her without mercy. During the last few months, however, it had begun to dawn upon them that the girl was grown up, and possessed decided tastes and opinions of her own. She was becoming a person of more importance, too, because of very pointed attentions bestowed upon her by Mr. Clifford Langdon. He was the son of one of the oldest families—handsome, agreeable, literary, rich. If they sought the world over, where could be found a more desirable husband for Esther? He might have captivated the girl's fancy, perhaps, if she had not heard her aunt and cousin ring the changes on his name until she almost wearied of it. In their eyes he was a paragon. They exhorted her to do this, and not to do that, as Mr. Langdon had very fastidious tastes, and they openly expressed their astonishment that so incomparable a person should do her the honor to notice her. All this naturally had the effect of causing a girl like Esther to avoid him and to declare that it was a matter of indifference to her what Mr. Langdon thought. She wished for no more critics.