In truth, Mrs. Brown, whom we have seen before in all her glory, was a finished character. The only human feeling to which she ever gave way was that of intense self-adulation. Even in her prayers she could not refrain from thanksgiving, that one perfect type of human perfection had still been left to a sinful world. This woman was an absolute study, if poor Catharine had possessed the experience or the will to read her. She had worked so hard in thoroughly forming the character she had so long assumed, that it seemed to be her own. Her tall, precise figure, the slim, long hand, of a dead white and always cold, the narrow face with its dull pallor,—all these were greatly in her favor; but there was one feature of the demure face not quite under subjection. The long nose harmonized with the drooping features both in form and color, but just at the end—as if her true nature must break forth somewhere—it glowed out with a fiery redness marvellous to behold. All the heat and color that should have warmed her thin lips, centred there, as if the nose had instituted some private experiments on the merits of the excise law, and had resolved to keep its pleasant researches a secret from the other sanctimonious features. “Well,” said the benevolent lady, softly, folding her hands over each other and back again, with solemn graciousness, “well!” Catharine leaned upon the table for support. The very presence of this woman made her faint. Her own sensitive nature recoiled from the hollow mockery of benevolence sitting in state before her. Mary Margaret saw how pale the poor girl became and ran for a chair. “She is sickly, ma’am, for all them red cheeks as she had a minute ago, and it’s tiresome standin’ long,” said the good woman, planting herself by the seat which she had thus considerately provided, with a feeling that after all the place was not quite a paradise. “I do not object to the young person sitting down if she is ill,” said Mrs. Brown, with a wave of the hand, “but if she is so feeble as that, I would remind you that this is not a hospital.” “I am not ill, madam,” said Catharine, with feeling, “but I am homeless and almost friendless.” “Then,” said Mrs. Brown, bowing blandly, and caressing her hands again, “this is your proper home; that is, providing you can be made useful to the cause, and know how to feel sufficient respect for the dignity of the Board.” “I trust,” answered Catharine, gently, “that I shall not be deficient in proper respect for anything that is in itself respectable.” “What!” ejaculated the lady of professional benevolence, sharply, while the bloom on her nose grew radiant, “perhaps I didn’t understand you?” “I merely intended to say, madam, that anything which is true and upright, never can lack respect. Even wicked people are forced to reverence goodness.”