Mr. Thorn buried his wife, and was comforted. He never married again. His eighteen months' experience was sufficient. He even consented to give up the direction of the infant, who would _not_ be a poor relation like her mother, to Mrs. de Silver, who proceeded to look after it quite as she would one of her own children. [And this was all because old Thorn was getting rich, and would probably not marry again, and Arabella would have his money.] When Arabella was ten years old, her father died. By his will he made Mr. de Silver his executor, but prudently forbade any sale of his real estate till his daughter should be twenty-one, when she was to enter into possession. The personal property was ample for her meantime. Arabella grew up quite as the adopted child of the De Silvers. They had no daughter, but were blessed with three sons. The youngest was but ten years older than Arabella, for whom Mrs. de Silver had destined him. Miss Thorne (to whose name an _e_ had been mysteriously added) bore a strong resemblance to her deceased mother, but there was one striking, I may say overwhelming difference between them. Mrs. Thorn had all her life been poor and dependent, and treated as such while thrown about from house to house for a precarious home. She was crossed and snubbed, and a naturally unamiable temper made a thousand times worse by the treatment she received. Arabella was rich and independent, and spoiled by over indulgence to her idle whims and caprices. For Mrs. de Silver, intent on making the match, did not dare cross her dear Arabella in the least thing. She was shrewd, and soon perceived that she controlled the situation, and did not hesitate to take advantage of it. In fact, she kept everybody dancing attendance on her. Fond of admiration to an absurd degree, she still had a constant suspicion that she was courted for her money. As I have said, in person she resembled her mother, but here wealth came in to do away with the resemblance. True, she was tall and angular, but she made up superbly, so that on looking at her one would exclaim: 'What a stylish woman!' True, her features were homely, and her complexion without freshness, but over these were spread the magic atmosphere of fashion and assured position. She had a consciousness which repelled any idea that _she_ could be otherwise than handsome, fascinating, intelligent, and everything else desirable, and this consciousness actually produced, in a large majority, the pleasing illusion that she was really all these. But she was not. On the contrary, stripped of the gloss, she was censorious, supercilious, and selfish. Deprived of her dressmaker, she was gaunt and unsightly. Separated from her position, she would have been unbearable. Arabella had many offers, of course, but she was too fond of her power and too suspicious of an attempt on her purse to yield easily. She was enough of a coquette not absolutely to destroy the hopes of an admirer, but