"Am I a beauty? No living creature ever said so before." "Adipose beauty." "Fat?" "No; not that exactly. Good-day." He came again, and asked me questions concerning my father and mother; what my grandparents died of; and whether any of my family were strumous. He struck me as being very odd. My school friends were attentive, but I only admitted Helen Perkins to see me. Her liking for me opened my heart still more toward her. She was my first intimate friend--and my last. Though younger than I, she was more experienced, and had already passed through scenes I knew nothing of, which had sobered her judgment, and given her feelings a practical tinge. She was noted for having the highest spirits of any girl in school--another result of her experiences. She never allowed them to appear fluctuating; she was, therefore, an aid to me, whose moods varied. After my illness came a sense of change. I had lost that careless security in my strength which I had always possessed, and was troubled with vague doubts, that made me feel I needed help from without. I did not see Charles while I was ill, for he was absent most of the time. I knew when he was at home by the silence which pervaded the premises. When he was not there, Alice spread the children in all directions, and the servants gave tongue. He was not at home the day I went downstairs, and I missed him, continually asking myself, "Why do I?" As I sat with Alice in the garden-room, I said, "Alice." She looked up from her sewing. "I am thinking of Charles." "Yes. He will be glad to see you again." "Is he really related to me?" "He told you so, did he not? And his name certainly is Morgeson." "But we are wholly unlike, are we not?" "Wholly; but why do you ask?" "He influences me so strongly." "Influences you?" she echoed. "Yes"; and, with an effort, "I believe I influence him." "You are very handsome," she said, with a little sharpness. "So are flowers," I said to myself. "It is not that, Alice," I answered peevishly; "you know better." "You are peculiar, then; it may be he likes you for being so. He is odd, you know; but his oddity never troubles me." And she resumed her sewing with a placid face. "Veronica is odd, also," was my thought; "but oddity there runs in a different direction." Her image appeared to me, pale, delicate, unyielding. I seemed to wash like a weed at her base. "You should see my sister, Alice." "Charles spoke of her; he says she plays beautifully. If you feel strong next week, we will go to Boston, and make our winter purchases. By the way, I hope you are not nervous. To go back to Charles, I have noticed how little you say to him. You know he never talks. The influence you speak of--it does not make you dislike him?" "No; I meant to say--my choice of words must be poor--that it was possible I might be thinking too much of him; he is your husband, you know, though I do not think he is particularly interesting, or pleasing."