If we only knew the sorrows of others! Mrs. Gwynn's satiric eyes glowed with the uncomfortable thought that hers at all events had been public enough. If openness be a claim for sympathy, she might well be entitled to receive balm of all her world. It seared every sensitive fibre within her to realize how much of her intimate inner life they all knew,--her friends, who masked this knowledge with a casual face, but talked over her foolish miseries among themselves with the mingled gusto of gossip, the superiority of contemptuous commiseration, and a rabid zest of speculation concerning such poor reserves as she had been able to maintain. Much of this drifted back to her knowledge through her old colored nurse, who since her childhood had remained her special attendant, though now officiating as cook to the Roscoe household, and by all respectfully called "Aunt Chaney." Her association with other cooks and ladies' maids enabled her to become well informed as to what was said and known in other households of these affairs. As Aunt Chaney detailed the gossip, she herself would burst into painful tears at the humiliating disclosures, exclaiming ever and anon, "Oh, de debbil was busy, shorely, de day dee married dat man!" But despite her burden of sympathetic woe, she would gather her powers to compass a debonair assurance toward observant outsiders and optimistically toss her head. "De man was good-looking to _de_straction," she would loftily asseverate, in defence of the situation, "and he didn't live long, nohow." Continuing, she would remind her hearers that she had been opposed to her young mistress's marriage, "But shucks! de pore chile saw how the other gals wuz runnin' arter Rufus Allerton Gwynn,--dat Fisher gal tried hard fur true, an' not married yit,--an' dat made Leonora Gwynn--Leonora Roscoe dat wuz--think mo' of his bein' so taken up with her! De hansomes' man in de whole country! He didn't live long!" This gallant outward show did not prevent the iron from entering the old nurse's soul especially as she detailed the gossip of Miss Fisher's maid, Leanna, who overheard the conversation of her mistress with two particular girl-cronies beside the midnight fire, pending the duty of brushing the long hair of the Fisher enchantress, which, being of a thrice-gilded red tint, required much care and gave her much trouble. It gave trouble elsewhere. Its flaring glories kept others awake besides poor Leanna, plying the brush nightly one "solid hour by the clock." For the fair Miss Mildred Fisher was a famous belle, and many hearts had been entangled in those glittering meshes.