Acres of 
 140 
 Long 'Beach
 
 THE WIDOW WY3E.
 
 THE WIDOW WYSE 
 
 Nobel 
 
 " Oh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! " 
 
 Merchant of Ve 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 CUPPLES, UPHAM AND COMPANY 
 Sfje IB Corner 33ooftstore 
 
 283 WASHINGTON STREET 
 1885
 
 Copyright, 1884, 
 By CUPPLES, UPHAM & Co. 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by 
 Stanley &> Usher, i-ji Devonshire Street, Boston, Mass.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 i. MOBILE i 
 
 n. AT MADAM LEONARD'S n 
 
 in. SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED 36 
 
 iv. THE SOPHOMORES 52 
 
 v. AT THE BREWSTERS' 60 
 
 vi. THE WIDOW WYSE 87 
 
 vii. GAYETIES 106 
 
 vin. AT MADAM LEONARD'S no 
 
 ix. COUNTRY GAYETIES 119 
 
 x. RICHARD APTHORPE 129 
 
 xi. HOLIDAY PLEASURES 147 
 
 xii. MAJOR APTHORPE . 161 
 
 xin. ALLIANCE 175 
 
 xiv. PLANS AND PROJECTS 188 
 
 xv. AT NEWPORT 215 
 
 xvi. BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S 222 
 
 xvii. FAREWELL TO MADAM LEONARD'S . . . 238 
 
 xvin. TRYING TO FORGET 245 
 
 xix. MAJOR APTHORPE'S QUEST 252 
 
 xx. FOILED , 255 
 
 2061857
 
 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOBILE. 
 
 A TUMBLE, a roll, a bump, and a prolonged 
 howl broke upon Miss Ethel Townsend's ear, 
 one bright morning in September, as she was 
 stepping from a long French-window to the 
 veranda. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " she exclaimed, recognizing 
 the voice and looking around. 
 
 " What 's the matter, now, Dumps ? How 
 came you there ? " 
 
 "Oh ! Miss Teddy," cried poor Dumps at the 
 foot of the stairs, " I 'ze dead, I 'ze dead, sure ; 
 specs I 'ze jes done gone an' killed myse'f." 
 
 A stout, comfortable-looking colored woman 
 made her appearance at this moment, who 
 called out:
 
 2 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Hyar, you, Dumps ! go straight to de 
 kitchen, an' doan go for to bodder Miss Teddy 
 wid yer foolin's." 
 
 "You mustn't scold the poor child, Dido," 
 said Ethel. " Don't you see she has hurt 
 herself?" 
 
 " She on'y wants a scuse for cryin', Miss 
 Teddy," said Dido, coolly. 
 
 "Didn't go fur to do it, Miss Teddy," said 
 Dumps. "'Clar' to goodness I didn't; jes 
 stepped on de fust stair, an' down I come 
 ker-blim. Oh ! my pore ole bones." 
 
 Dumps was one of those children, who really 
 delight in being unhappy, and was the butt 
 of ridicule for the whole kitchen, and when she 
 limped in with a doleful groan, saying, in imita- 
 tion of her elders, " Oh ! my pore ole bones," 
 there was a shout of derisive laughter. It 
 ceased, however, a moment after when Dido 
 marched in with all the importance her position 
 in the household gave her, saying, severely : 
 
 "Specs yer'd laugh if de pore chile done 
 broke her neck," and, with characteristic incon- 
 sistency, took Dumps in her arms and began 
 rocking back and forth with the most tender
 
 MOBILE. 3 
 
 expressions of compassion. Instantly there 
 was a chorus of sympathetic voices. 
 
 " Whar 's de camfire ? Bring de arniky. De 
 pore chile done hurt herse'f." 
 
 " Doan cry yer pore eyes out, honey," said 
 Dido. " Kase yer 's gwine Norf wid Miss 
 Teddy, nex' week." 
 
 " I is ? " said Dumps, starting up and rolling 
 up the whites of her eyes in ecstasy, and for- 
 getting to groan. " I is truly gwine Norf wid 
 Miss Teddy? Bress my stars ! " 
 
 It was an ideal Southern home, whose young 
 mistress was fairly worshiped by her devoted 
 servants. Ethel Townsend had beauty of a ' 
 very striking order. She had inherited her 
 mother's lovely golden-brown hair and all the 
 grace for which that parent was famous. There 
 was, however, no trace of the depressing 
 languor which grew upon the mother until she 
 lost her hold upon life altogether. Her father 
 was a Northerner by birth, and from him came 
 her glorious, dark eyes, her strong, good sense, 
 and her abundant health. She was everything 
 to him, as he was everything to her. He told 
 her all his plans and projects, and she went
 
 4 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to him with all her childish joys and sorrows. 
 Neither of them ever thought of troubling 
 the beautiful, frail mother. The father and 
 daughter were constantly together. He took 
 her with him on journeys by land and by sea. 
 She tramped with him through marsh and 
 wood after game, and was considered as good 
 a shot as any young man in the country. She 
 had an accomplished governess, and her father 
 interested himself personally in her studies. 
 But her lessons were constantly interrupted, 
 and Dr. Townsend had felt for some time that 
 his daughter needed the regular discipline of 
 a boarding-school. Ethel was nearly seventeen 
 when her mother died, and for months after- 
 ward the father and daughter wandered rest- 
 lessly from place to place, when Dr. Townsend 
 suddenly made up his mind that Ethel must 
 go to school, and as he felt that he could not 
 stay in Mobile without her, he decided to go 
 abroad, and on the evening before our story 
 opens he had returned from the North, where 
 he had been to make arrangements for Ethel's 
 comfort while finishing her studies. Acting 
 upon the advice of a friend, he visited " Madam
 
 MOBILE. 5 
 
 Leonard's," the most refined and the most 
 exclusive institution in the country. He found 
 madam a tall, graceful lady, with a pale, clear- 
 cut face, and engaging manners. She had 
 occupied her present quarters for a year only. 
 The house was large, and the grounds ample, 
 with a background of pleasant woods a quarter 
 of a mile away. High walls shut out the 
 curious gaze of passers-by, but there was 
 nothing to indicate its purpose to outsiders. 
 It was the property of a gentleman then travel- 
 ing in Europe, and had been occupied by him 
 as a residence until leased to Madam Leonard. 
 " I am glad you came this morning," she 
 said in her low, suave voice to Dr. Townsend, 
 " for I do not allow myself to take more than 
 eight young ladies, and I have seven already 
 engaged. I take personal interest in each one, 
 and consider them my guests, rather than my 
 pupils. I have but few rules, and I make their 
 duties .as little irksome as possible. You may 
 think my prices exorbitant, but when I tell you 
 that I have resisted all inducements to take 
 what are termed day-pupils, you will, I think, 
 be quite satisfied. You see," she went on, with
 
 6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 a smile of satisfaction, "that I have no outside 
 influences to contend against ; I watch over 
 the young ladies as though they were my 
 own daughters, and I consider this to be an 
 absolutely safe place for any young girl." 
 
 " It is this very exclusiveness which pleases 
 me," said Dr. Townsend. " I am sure Ethel 
 ought to be happy here, but I beg you^will 
 remember that, owing to her mother's weak 
 state for a long time before her death, she has 
 been under very little restraint. Indeed, I am 
 afraid she is a little spoiled. Your manner 
 of living will, doubtless, be quite different to 
 what she has been accustomed, and she will 
 miss her home sorely" his voice breaking 
 a little. " Dear Madam Leonard, she is all I 
 have ; pray be patient with her, for I could not 
 bear to think of my little girl as lonely or 
 unhappy " 
 
 " I quite understand," said Madam Leonard, 
 in a sympathizing voice, "and I am sure you 
 may trust me to make her sojourn with me 
 both pleasant and profitable." 
 
 Then like the careful, loving father that he 
 was, Dr. Townsend went into, and settled small
 
 MOBILE. 7 
 
 details for his daughter's comfort. He asked 
 many indulgences for her that Madam Leonard 
 was loth to grant, but a persuasive voice which 
 offered such generous pecuniary considerations 
 could hardly be resisted by the impecunious 
 widow, and Dr. Townsend went back to his 
 Southern home well pleased with his daughter's 
 prospects. 
 
 " I think you will like Madam Leonard, my 
 dear," said he ; " she is very pleasing in her 
 manner, cordial, yet as dignified as a lady in 
 her position should be. She has always moved 
 in the best society, my friend Kennard tells 
 me, but owing to reverses, followed by her 
 husband's death, she has been compelled to do 
 something for her own support. I should wish 
 you to remember this, dear, for her position, 
 at best, must be a trying one." 
 
 " I shall always try and do as you would wish 
 to have me," answered Ethel. " I know that 
 I disappointed you grievously, once upon a 
 time." 
 
 " Yes," answered her father, laughing, " I am 
 not likely to forget that. It was a clear case 
 of obstinacy on your part, too. You should
 
 8 THE WIDOW WTSE, 
 
 have fulfilled my expectations, and proved 
 yourself a boy. However, I have my revenge 
 in calling you by the name you ought to 
 bear. You will never be anything but Teddy 
 to me." 
 
 "I remember," answered Ethel, "that you 
 taught me, when I was a very little girl, to say, 
 when asked my name, ' Dr. Edward Townsend, 
 junior.' " 
 
 " Yes," said he, " and you would have been, 
 baptized by that name, but for ma's prejudices." 
 
 Then suddenly growing grave, he said : " All 
 this is nonsense, my darling, and I want you 
 always to remember that I am more than sat- 
 isfied as it is ; I would not have it otherwise, 
 if I could." 
 
 Ethel patted his hand affectionately, saying, 
 "Oh ! how I wish I could go with you ! " 
 
 " I wish so, too," he answered, "with all my 
 heart ; but it would not be wise. Your educa- 
 tion is by no means finished, and you could 
 hardly go to school after a year or two of 
 travel. Remain with Madam Leonard two 
 years, and after that time you shall go where 
 you will. I have made every arrangement
 
 MOBILE. 9 
 
 possible for your comfort. Dido will be near 
 you to do everything in the way of washing and 
 mending. She will have a little white cottage 
 that will delight her heart. I had a little diffi- 
 culty in accomplishing this, for madam's rules 
 are very strict with regard to outsiders, but 
 she yielded finally. You must see her often, 
 so she won't grow homesick, and, I am sure," 
 he went on, with a smile of intense amusement, 
 " that Dumps will cheer you up when you feel 
 lonesome. Write me as freely as you talk 
 to me, my dear, and if I have left anything 
 undone, let me know it at once. I saw Jack 
 Fenton in New York. He goes back to the 
 university soon, and will be quite near you. 
 Indeed, I think you may be able to see the 
 tops of the buildings from your chamber win- 
 dows. At any rate, they are not far away." 
 
 "It will seem like a bit of home to see Jack," 
 answered Ethel, " and I cannot be too thankful 
 for Dido and poor Dumps. How thoughtful 
 you are for me ! " 
 
 "That is what I am living for," said her 
 father. " It is my greatest pleasure to make 
 you happy. You will feel the necessary
 
 IO THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 restraint at first, of course, but I hope it will 
 not prove very irksome to you." 
 
 " Oh ! I shall not mind it at all," said Ethel. 
 "I mean to study faithfully, and I shall not 
 have time to be unhappy." 
 
 The next week was a busy one for Ethel. 
 Old friends of whom she had many must 
 be visited and taken leave of, and arrangements 
 made for the poor people whom she had relieved 
 and comforted for so many years. There was 
 weeping and wailing among the faithful col- 
 ored people about her, in view of her departure. 
 Dido, alone, was proud and happy, and poor 
 Dumps was almost cheerful.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 " DEAREST PAPA, You will doubtless be 
 surprised at this added syllable, but you must 
 know that your daughter has been laughed at. 
 Yes, actually laughed at, on account of her 
 paws. I did not know what it all meant, until 
 Kitty Brewster, my roommate, a kind-hearted 
 Boston girl, explained it to me. So it seems 
 that I have to choose between ' par ' and papa. 
 The former being detestable, I choose the 
 latter. Never expect to hear me say ' paw ' 
 again. 
 
 " I am sure, dear papa, that you will want to 
 know, first of all, my impressions concerning 
 Madam Leonard's. You know its pleasant 
 surroundings, and have seen its mistress ; but 
 you must pardon me if I say that I do not 
 think that a man's perceptions are quite as 
 quick as a woman's at least where women 
 are concerned. 
 
 " Now, you are laughing at me, and I hear you
 
 12 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 say : ' She does not like her ' ; but no matter. 
 I shall say nothing of Madam Leonard at 
 present, having seen but little of her. 
 
 "Miss Carpenter seems to manage everything, 
 and she seems happy only when she can thwart 
 some pet plan of the young ladies ; so, of 
 course, they all hate her. Miss Eliza, her 
 sister, a little, meek, old, young woman, is 
 her .echo. I think she would be kind to us 
 if she dared. She does not look as though 
 she ever thoroughly enjoyed anything in the 
 whole course of her life. Our German pro- 
 fessor is a poor man, with a large family. He 
 looks as though it was a struggle to maintain 
 them ; but he is considered a good teacher. 
 You will feel gratified to know that he compli- 
 ments your daughter on her proficiency in his 
 native tongue. He teaches other branches, 
 also. I have just begun Italian, which I like 
 very much. Miss Carpenter has the French 
 classes ; but Madam Leonard is looking for 
 a native teacher. I hope she will soon find 
 one, for, although, as you know, I have no need 
 to study that language, I do want the girls to 
 have a better teacher.
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 13 
 
 "Kitty Brewster, as I told you, is from Bos- 
 ton. She does not wear spectacles, but she is 
 just as ' nice ' as she can be. Very pretty, too, 
 although she does not think so. She calls her 
 face common, because she is neither a decided 
 blonde, nor yet a brunette, and can wear one 
 color as well as another. The Brewsters live 
 in fine style in Boston, and are very wealthy, 
 Lizzie Highgate says, and one can see that they 
 must be cultivated, as well ; though Lizzie says 
 nothing about that, as she worships wealth and 
 cares very little for culture. Thanks to you, 
 we have two bedrooms and a private parlor, so 
 we are what Lizzie Highgate calls ' quite swell.' 
 I wonder what Madam Leonard would say if 
 she could hear this young lady's slang ? Yet 
 she is clearly madam's favorite. She is a little, 
 black-tressed creature, with large, dark eyes and 
 pale face. We call her 'The Little Gypsy,' and 
 she makes the most of her dark beauty by 
 dressing in the most dashing style. She is as 
 fond of colors as Dido, only I should not dare 
 to say so in her hearing, for she has a temper 
 that is far from angelic, and displays it upon 
 the slightest provocation. She lives in a little 
 town farther North.
 
 14 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 "Edith Preble is from Portland, Maine. A 
 tall, stately girl, with a fine, proud face. I like 
 her, but she is not a favorite, being rather 
 reserved, and very unyielding where right and 
 wrong are concerned, and she never needs to 
 be reproved. The girls say that she was never 
 known to miss a lesson, and is always provok- 
 ingly correct in her deportment. ('A fine 
 example for you, my dear,' I hear you say.) 
 Lizzie Highgate says that her father is poor, 
 and that she has been foolish enough to engage 
 herself to a young lawyer, of her own city, as 
 poor as herself. I suggested to Miss Highgate 
 that possibly they were going to marry for 
 love, and she answered : ' Nonsense ! ' The 
 other girls are younger, and do not particu- 
 larly interest me. 
 
 "Now, papa, dear, you are to keep these young 
 ladies in your mind, for I shall have nothing 
 else to write about, and you promised to be 
 interested in whatever concerns me. I got 
 your note from New York, and am anxiously 
 awaiting a letter from across the ocean. I have 
 cried but once since you left me. It was last 
 evening, when Dido said : ' Say howdy to yer
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 15 
 
 paw, honey, and tell him we's satisfied.' Miss 
 Carpenter would like to keep me from going 
 there, but she cannot. I think I know your 
 daughter well enough to promise that. But 
 Kitty is getting impatient (you are to love 
 Kitty), and, I am sure, she cannot keep 
 her tongue quiet much longer, so I will say 
 good-by. From your loving 
 
 "TEDDY." 
 
 " My dear Ethel, I am thankful that you 
 have at last finished that interminable letter," 
 remarked the aforesaid Kitty. " What can you 
 possibly find to write about ? Letter-writing 
 is my pet aversion. I have been dying to talk 
 to you for the last half-hour." 
 
 "Well, my friend, don't lose time, now you 
 have the opportunity," said Ethel. " Talk 
 away; but first tell me what you do with 
 yourselves on Saturdays." 
 
 " Oh ! we do our mending, I mean those of 
 us who are obliged to (you should thank your 
 stars that you are not), and write letters, 
 as you have been doing, until it is time to go 
 for our walk."
 
 1 6 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 "Do you have any particular time for walk- 
 ing ? " asked Ethel, eagerly ; " if not, let us go 
 now. I am longing for the woods. It must be 
 lovely there." 
 
 " You poor, little innocent," said Kitty, in a 
 pitying tone. " Do you imagine for a moment 
 that our ancient grimalkin will permit us to go 
 when and where we please, and without her 
 detested presence?" 
 
 " You don't mean to say that Miss Carpenter 
 will accompany us ? " said Ethel. 
 
 " Not only Miss Carpenter, but Miss Eliza 
 also," answered Kitty, enjoying Ethel's ludi- 
 crous look of disgust. 
 
 "In the first place," Kitty went on, "we set 
 out in pairs, like convicts, with a keeper at the 
 head that 's Miss Eliza, and another at 
 the foot to take us all in that's Miss 
 Carpenter" 
 
 " But what is it all for ? " interrupted Ethel. 
 
 "To see that we keep step," said Kitty, 
 coolly, "and that we do not raise our voices 
 above the conventional society standard, and 
 that we do not laugh. We can smile occa- 
 sionally, but not too often, and, above all 
 things, to protect us should we meet a man."
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 17 
 
 " Meet a man ? " repeated Ethel, in a bewil- 
 dered tone. 
 
 "Yes, my lambkin, 'meet a man.' In case 
 we do', you must immediately drop your eyes to 
 the ground. You must, on no account, lift 
 so much as an eye-winker." 
 
 " How perfectly absurd you are this morn- 
 ing, Kitty ! Do be seasible, if you can, and 
 tell me if we have to submit to strict disci- 
 pline on holidays," said Ethel. 
 
 " I have told you the solemn truth," answered 
 Kitty, " and if you do not believe me, wait and 
 see." 
 
 " It is too ridiculous to believe," said Ethel. 
 
 Just then a bell rang. 
 
 " That means that we are to prepare for our 
 walk," said Kitty, rising. 
 
 " I would rather not go," said Ethel, decid- 
 edly. 
 
 "Oh! but you must," answered Kitty. 
 " They won't let you off. Come, get your hat. 
 It won't be so very disagreeable, after all. We 
 will walk together, and talk so that the rest 
 won't hear." 
 
 They set out ten minutes later, and had
 
 1 8 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 nearly reached the woods, where they would be 
 allowed to separate a little, when Ethel noticed 
 a dogcart, in which were seated two young 
 men, coming rapidly toward them. 
 
 "Drop your eyes, dear," said Kitty, mischiev- 
 ously, as they were passing. 
 
 " One of them was Lizzie Highgate's brother, 
 but she could n't speak to him." 
 
 " And the other," said Ethel, eagerly, " was 
 Jack Fenton, an old friend of mine, whom you 
 must know." 
 
 "Hush!" said Kitty, warningly, "the old cat 
 will hear." 
 
 Just then, they reached the woods, and Miss 
 Carpenter gathered the young ladies about her, 
 and said, in measured tones : 
 
 " I noticed that one of the young ladies held 
 a handkerchief in her hand, while those young 
 men were passing. She should have known 
 better." Miss Eliza heaved a deep sigh, as 
 Miss Carpenter went on. 
 
 " I will not accuse her of doing so indelicate 
 a thing as waving that that suggestive 
 article; but I noticed that the young men 
 were encouraged to bow in the most impress- 
 ive manner."
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 19 
 
 Miss Eliza almost groaned. 
 
 " It must have been out of respect for you, 
 Miss Carpenter," said Lizzie Highgate, quickly, 
 the owner of the above-mentioned handkerchief. 
 
 Miss Carpenter coughed dryly, and said : 
 
 " We will give the young lady the benefit of 
 the doubt ; but I would suggest that hereafter 
 no young lady permit herself to be seen, while 
 walking, with a handkerchief in her hand, 
 excepting under the most pressing circum- 
 stances." 
 
 There were signs of a struggle between 
 amusement and indignation in Ethel Town- 
 send's face ; but she made no remark ; and 
 they were soon gathering handfuls of brilliant 
 autumn leaves, wherewith to decorate their 
 rooms for the coming winter. It was a glorious 
 October morning, and the girls soon forgot 
 their annoyances, and chatted gayly with each 
 other, thoroughly enjoying the clear air and 
 bright sunshine, and they went back refreshed 
 in body and mind. 
 
 " It was n't so bad, after all ? " queried 
 Kitty. 
 
 "It was perfectly delightful after we got
 
 2O THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 there," said Ethel. "And won't these leaves 
 brighten up our rooms ? I '11 have Dido press 
 them to-night." 
 
 " Oh ! most fortunate girl, to possess a 
 Dido," answered Kitty, with a sigh. 
 
 "Oh! I couldn't live without Dido," said 
 Ethel, decidedly. " You cannot think what 
 a helpless, useless creature I have always 
 been, with half a dozen servants to wait espe- 
 cially on me. Why, I never did a thing for 
 myself in my life, until I came here. I shall 
 never forget, you dear child, how patiently you 
 have taught me, morning after morning, to 
 dress my hair. I really think I am getting to 
 be quite ' dexterious,' as Dido would say." 
 
 " Your hair is perfectly lovely, and you do it 
 beautifully," said Kitty, enthusiastically. 
 
 " I will have Dido press all the leaves, if you 
 think the girls would like it," said Ethel. 
 
 " ' Like it ! '" repeated Kitty ; " they would 
 go clown on their knees to you, every one of 
 them." 
 
 Later in the afternoon, as Ethel was prepar- 
 ing to visit Dido, she met Madam Leonard, 
 and, as she greeted her in her pleasant way, 
 Ethel said:
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 21 
 
 " I suppose I may go over to the cottage for 
 a little while, madam ? " 
 
 " My dear child," answered madam, in her soft 
 voice, " I wanted to speak to you about those 
 colored people. I don't like to deny you any- 
 thing ; but I hope you will not ask to go there 
 quite as often as you have done ; they are 
 hardly fit associates for you." 
 
 Ethel looked at her in amazement, as she 
 answered : 
 
 " I thought I was to go there when I pleased. 
 I am sure papa understood it so. He partic- 
 ularly told me not to let Dido get homesick." 
 
 " Yes, dear," answered madam, patting 
 Ethel softly on the shoulder. "I am 
 willing that you should go there, only not 
 quite so often. You were there last even- 
 ing, and the child will be here to-night for 
 your linen." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said Ethel, impatiently, " but 
 Dumps doesn't signify. I want to see Dido 
 about pressing my leaves ; besides, I promised 
 to write a letter for her. I did n't have time 
 last night." 
 
 "'Dumps,'" repeated Madam Leonard,
 
 22 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " what a strange name ! Has the child no 
 other ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I suppose so," said Ethel, care- 
 lessly ; " I will inquire if you like." 
 
 "And she has always lived in your family?" 
 said madam, significantly. " Do you not think 
 that she should be taught that she is a respon- 
 sible human being? Did you never try to 
 teach the poor thing ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes," answered Ethel, " I tried all 
 last winter to teach her to say: 'Sin is an 
 abomination unto the Lord ' ; and in the 
 spring, as she had only got to ' Sin is a bodder- 
 ation,' I gave it up. But she goes to school 
 now, and she hr.s really learned a good deal. 
 The last time I was there, she exclaimed, 
 eagerly, as soon as she saw me : 
 
 " ' Oh ! Miss Teddy, I can spell spoon.' 
 
 " ' Well, Dumps, spell spoon,' said I. 
 
 " She took a spoon from the table and spelled, 
 'J. C-a-r-t-e-r, spoon.' I was really proud of 
 her. I was, indeed." 
 
 Madam coughed, gently, as she said : " Well, 
 dear, you may go for an hour. Pray, be back 
 punctually."
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. 2 3 
 
 She was always gentle and gracious to the 
 young ladies, leaving all the disagreeables to 
 Miss Carpenter. 
 
 On Sunday mornings they went to church. 
 The dear, old rector was one of Madam Leon- 
 ard's friends, and, as he was not considered 
 dangerous, being over seventy, was a welcome 
 visitor at all times. 
 
 The young ladies were very fond of him, for, 
 though a little prosy in his sermons, he was 
 a delightful companion and a wise counsellor. 
 In the afternoon came Bible-lessons at home, 
 and in the evening the girls wrote letters. 
 
 One morning Lizzie Highgate came rushing 
 into the young ladies' parlor, with scarcely an 
 apology for a knock, saying to Kitty, who was 
 the only visible occupant of the room : 
 
 " Do we have extra pages of Roman history 
 to-day ? It would be just like Miss Carpenter 
 to give us a page or two in addition because 
 it was so hard we could n't get it yesterday. 
 I asked Ethel Townsend at breakfast, and she 
 answered : ' Reckon.' I wonder why she is 
 always ' reckoning.' " 
 
 " For the same reason," said Ethel, straight-
 
 24 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 ening up from behind a large easy-chair, where 
 she had been sitting on a low stool, " that you 
 are always ' guessing.' " 
 
 Lizzie reddened deeply. 
 
 " How strangely our peculiarities strike each 
 other," she went on, sweetly. "Now, for a long 
 time I could not get accustomed to this con- 
 stant guessing. I said to myself : ' They do 
 not seem to really know anything.' Only 
 this morning our friend here " turning to 
 Kitty "was asked if she would have more 
 steak, and she answered : ' No, I guess not.' 
 And I thought : ' How strange that she should 
 n't know ! ' ' 
 
 With her feathers all ruffled, and her small 
 nose in the air, Miss Highgate turned to go, 
 saying, primly : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Townsend. I did 
 not know you were there ; " and Ethel called 
 after her : 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to beg your pardon, 
 although I did know that you were there. 
 We have half a page of history extra." 
 
 "What made you answer her so, Ethel?" 
 asked Kitty.
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. 2 5 
 
 " Could n't help it, my dear," answered Ethel. 
 " I never like to lose an opportunity, and you 
 must admit that she gave me provocation 
 enough." 
 
 "Yes," answered Kitty, "but she won't get 
 over it for a week, and I particularly wanted to 
 ask a favor of her." 
 
 "Well, why not ask it?" replied Ethel. 
 " She cannot be angry with you, as you said 
 nothing." 
 
 " Oh ! you hardly know Miss Highgate," 
 answered Kitty. " She does not stop to dis- 
 criminate when she is in her tantrums. It is 
 quite enough for her that I was with you when 
 this happened." 
 
 " What a strange girl she is ! " said Ethel. 
 " I am sure I am glad to be told of my faults, 
 and if Lizzie had spoken to me instead of to 
 you, I should have thanked her. I acknowl- 
 edge that darkeyisms are bad enough ; but you 
 must pardon me if I say that Yankeeisms 
 seem infinitely worse to me. But there is 
 one thing that I cannot get accustomed to, 
 and that is Lizzie Highgate's slang phrases. 
 For instance : I borrowed a pencil of her
 
 26 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 yesterday, having mislaid my own, and, after 
 using it, I handed it back, saying, ' Thank 
 you, very much.' Instead of taking it, she 
 answered, without looking up, ' Oh ! shoot 
 the pencil ! ' The window being open, I did 
 as she requested. I ' shot the pencil ' out of 
 the window, and, if you will believe me, she 
 was angry." 
 
 Kitty laughed, saying, " She does use a 
 dreadful amount of slang ; but she has brothers, 
 my dear, and 'brothers are awful,' she says; 
 they talk nothing but slang. She will go to 
 her room now, and tear around for half an 
 hour ; after that, she will feel better." 
 
 " I do hope," said Ethel, laughingly, " that 
 she won't tear her clothes. I never saw any- 
 body's raiment so pinned together in my life. 
 She must use all her pin-money for its legiti- 
 mate purpose. I don't believe she ever takes 
 a stitch." 
 
 " She only mends what will be likely to come 
 under Miss Carpenter's eye," said Kitty. 
 " She has no time. She takes it all to dress 
 her hair. She gets up at six o'clock every 
 morning and works upon it until breakfast-
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 27 
 
 time. Personal adornment is Miss Highgate's 
 pet weakness." 
 
 " I knew that it must take time and patience 
 to dress hair in that impossible sort of style," 
 said Ethel v " I have often wondered at the 
 structure ; but I did not think her equal to the 
 sacrifice of her morning nap for any purpose 
 whatsoever." 
 
 " She is as vain as a peacock," answered 
 Kitty. " We roomed together last year, and 
 she used to awaken me sometimes by slam- 
 ming around because she could n't get her jetty 
 locks to suit her; and one morning in partic- 
 ular, I remember, I was dreadfully annoyed, 
 and said : ' Lizzie, why don't you swear out- 
 right and be done with it ? ' 
 
 " ' What do you mean ? ' " she asked, sharply, 
 her nose in the air. ' There 's many an oath 
 in the slam of a door.' I quoted. ' You must 
 have slammed several into your bureau-drawers 
 this morning. I think you would feel a greater 
 relief in doing as I suggested ; that is all.' She 
 did n't speak to me for a week. 
 
 " It is fortunate for Lizzie," resumed Kitty, 
 after a pause, "that Madam Leonard does not
 
 28 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 interfere with our clothes. Indeed, I think 
 she likes to have us dress. It was not allowed 
 at all at Miss Moran's, where I was sent sev- 
 eral years ago." 
 
 " Did you all dress alike ? " asked Ethel, 
 with a look of horror. " I thought such 
 things were practised only in charity-schools." 
 
 " Not precisely alike," answered Kitty ; 
 " but our dresses were perfectly plain ; an over- 
 skirt was considered arc abomination. We 
 were obliged to brush back our hair, and do it 
 in the simplest manner possible ; and not 
 a particle of jewelry was allowed, not even a 
 plain ring. I remember, when I was there, 
 that Miss Moran was very much troubled about 
 one of the girls who wore a ring that was put 
 upon her finger years before, and she could not 
 get it off. She made her soak her hand in 
 warm, soapy water, but to no purpose, and 
 she was forced to let her wear it." 
 
 " I would n't have remained there a day," 
 said Ethel, indignantly. 
 
 " I am sure you would not," said Kitty. 
 "She would have swept your dainty ruffles 
 and delicate laces into your boxes at once,
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 2 9 
 
 and you would not have seen them again, until 
 you got home. One must be ' plain behind and 
 plain before' at Miss Moran's." 
 
 "Then, this isn't the worse place in the 
 world ? " queried Ethel, doubtfully. 
 
 " It is a paradise compared with Miss 
 Moran's," said Kitty. 
 
 But, notwithstanding Kitty's prediction 
 concerning the length of Miss Highgate's 
 fit of temper, that young lady met her a few 
 hours after, with her face wreathed in smiles. 
 She held up a letter with a foreign postmark, 
 saying, 
 
 " See ! I have a letter from my dearest 
 friend. And only think ! she tells me she will 
 be here by Easter. I shall begin to be home- 
 sick as soon as I know she has arrived." 
 
 " We cannot allow that, my child," said the 
 soft voice of Madam Leonard, who at that 
 moment appeared. " But how is my dear 
 Julia ? " 
 
 " Very well, and very impatient to see us all, 
 she says," answered the radiant Lizzie. 
 
 "Dear girl!" said Madam Leonard, "how 
 much we all want to see her ! She was my
 
 30 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 first pupil," she continued, turning to Ethel, 
 " and I am very much attached to her. She 
 married soon after she left me, and in six 
 months became a widow. She has seen much 
 trouble, but she bears it all with uncommon 
 sweetness." 
 
 "She was always charming," said Lizzie; 
 " but, I suppose, she will come back more fasci- 
 nating than ever, if possible. She has been 
 admired immensely abroad ; but, judging from 
 her letters, she is not in the least spoiled." 
 
 " You are very enthusiastic concerning your 
 friend, my dear," said madam, smiling, " and, I 
 am sure, you have reason to be; she is very 
 dear to us all." 
 
 Kitty raised her eyebrows at this, while 
 Lizzie read from the letter : 
 
 " The first moment I can spare from dearest 
 mamma, I shall go to my dear Madam 
 Leonard.' " 
 
 Madam flushed with pleasure, as she 
 answered : 
 
 " Her devotion to her mother is one of the 
 most beautiful traits of her character." 
 
 Ethel noticed that Kitty not only raised her
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. 3 I 
 
 eyebrows at this, but her expressive shoulders, 
 as well ; but she did not speak. When they 
 were alone she asked : 
 
 " Who is this remarkable person, whom 
 Madam Leonard and Miss Highgate vie with 
 each other in praising ? " 
 
 " Oh ! have n't you heard of her before ? " said 
 Kitty. " I am surprised. She is the Widow 
 Wyse, whom madam is always holding up for 
 an example, and to whom Lizzie writes long, 
 gushing letters. She has had a minute 
 description of you, my dear, long before this, 
 with Miss Highgate's own personal opinion 
 of you. She writes regularly, once a fortnight, 
 giving her all the gossip. She receives very 
 irregular replies, but Lizzie is more than satis- 
 fied, for she knows that her beloved Julia is so 
 admired, and so overwhelmed with attentions, 
 and is in such a whirl of gayety all the time, that 
 she cannot possibly find time to write oftener, 
 but when she does write to her ' dear little Wild 
 Rose ' she tells her that she is never absent from 
 her thoughts, and that she would be perfectly 
 happy if said ' Wild Rose ' were with her, and I 
 am sure I wish she was with all my heart, for I
 
 32 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 am quite as tired of her as I am of the Widow 
 Wyse." 
 
 " Why do you call her ' the Widow Wyse ' ? " 
 said Ethel, laughing. 
 
 " Owing to the natural depravity of my 
 nature," answered Kitty; "she doesn't like it, 
 and it makes Lizzie furious." 
 
 "So you know her personally?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes," answered Kitty, " I know her very 
 well. You see, sister Margaret, Mrs. Onslow, 
 lives in Alliance, a part of the time, as her hus- 
 band has large manufacturing interests there, 
 and Mrs. Houlton, Mrs. Wyse's mother, lives 
 there too, so it was Mrs. Wyse's former home. 
 It is Lizzie's home too, and it was upon the 
 widow's recommendation that she came to 
 Madam Leonard's. Alliance is a lovely place, 
 and as Margaret is rather lonely there, I gener- 
 ally visit her in June, and sometimes in Septem- 
 ber. She is at the seashore during July and 
 August, and she spends the winter in Boston, 
 coming down about Thanksgiving time. I want 
 you to know Margaret. She is charming, and 
 dear little Gertrude is a lovely child. You will 
 see them before long at our house, and we
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. 33 
 
 will visit her just as soon as Madam Leonard 
 dismisses us for the summer." 
 
 "You plan beautifully for me, Kitty," said 
 Ethel ; " but are you allowed to select your 
 sister's guests ?" 
 
 " My sister will be more than glad to have you 
 with her, so you need not say a word or make a 
 plan. Everything has been arranged : mamma 
 and I have planned fully for our holidays and 
 summer vacation. You are to spend Thanks- 
 giving, Christmas, and the Easter holidays with 
 me in Boston, June at Alliance with Margaret, 
 July and August at our country-place, which is 
 lovely, and September well, we hardly know 
 what we will do with September until it comes. 
 It is a lovely month to travel. If you have 
 thought for a moment that I could have the 
 heart to leave you in this forlorn place and 
 go back to my dear, delightful old home, it only 
 shows that you don't know Kitty Brewster. 
 And now, my dear Miss Townsend, allow me 
 to inform you that it is high time you were 
 studying." 
 
 Ethel gave her vivacious little friend a 
 grateful kiss, and obediently took up her book.
 
 34 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 After an hour's study, during which time 
 neither of the girls spoke a word, Ethel started 
 up suddenly, saying, "I cannot understand 
 why Jack Fenton does n't call upon me. I 
 think it is very shabby of him. I want so 
 much to introduce him to you." 
 
 Kitty laughed outright : indeed, she seemed 
 so much amused that Ethel was annoyed and 
 said : " I don't know what you are laughing at, 
 Kitty; it seems hardly polite. " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," answered Kitty, still 
 laughing, " but you are such an amazing piece 
 of innocence that I positively cannot help it. 
 You are so infantile in your ideas, my child, it 
 is perfectly delicious. You think you can have 
 whatever you cry for." 
 
 "And you are so enigmatical in your talk," 
 retorted Ethel, "that I cannot understand you 
 at all. Will you condescend to explain ? " 
 
 Kitty assumed a pitying smile as she 
 answered : " If you have imagined for a moment 
 that you will be permitted to see one of the 
 young men belonging to that institution," point- 
 ing to the university buildings, "you will be 
 disappointed."
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 35 
 
 "Do you mean to say," said Ethel, "that 
 Madam Leonard would not allow me to see 
 Jack, if he called ? " 
 
 "I do mean to say just that," answered 
 Kitty. 
 
 A dangerous light came into Ethel's eyes, 
 as she said, in a low tone : " Kitty, if Jack 
 Fcnton, my old friend and neighbor calls here, 
 I shall see him. Do you mark what I say ? 
 / shall see Jam." 
 
 Kitty shook her head, and at that moment 
 a class-bell rang.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 
 
 ONE Saturday afternoon, a few weeks later, 
 as Ethel was looking aimlessly out of the win- 
 dow, she saw young Fenton coming briskly up 
 the walk. In an instant her listlessness was 
 gone. She sprang up and, girl-like, threw a 
 hasty glance into the mirror, saying, " There 's 
 Jack, at last," and started toward the door. She 
 heard him ask for her, and he was invited into 
 the drawing-room. But, instead of calling her, 
 the servant called Miss Carpenter, who said a 
 few words to her visitor, and dismissed him. 
 Ethel could hardly believe her senses, notwith- 
 standing what Kitty had said. In an instant 
 she was at the front-door, in which stood Miss 
 Carpenter. 
 
 " That was my visitor," said Ethel, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Yes," answered Miss Carpenter, coolly, " but 
 the young ladies arc not permitted to receive 
 visits from young gentlemen," raising her
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 37 
 
 arm to bar the way. " Go to your room, Miss 
 Townsend." 
 
 " Stand out of my way," said Ethel, fiercely 
 pushing her arm aside as she walked out of the 
 door, calling after the fast-disappearing Jack, 
 leaving Miss Carpenter the picture of angry 
 amazement. 
 
 " You poor, little nun," said Jack, smiling, and 
 taking the hand she offered. " How did you 
 manage to escape ? Joe Highgate offered to 
 bet that I would n't be able to catch even a 
 glimpse of you, but I thought I would make 
 the attempt. What a dragon that woman is! 
 I thought she would bite my head off, when I 
 asked for you. Was it Madam Leonard ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," answered Ethel, recovering her 
 voice, " Madam Leonard is a lady, at least in 
 appearance. It was Miss Carpenter, and she is 
 an 'old dragon.' I was determined to see you, 
 especially after she told me, with so much ap- 
 parent enjoyment, that I could n't," she went 
 on rapidly ; "but I am too angry- to talk to you. 
 I wonder I did n't strike her." 
 
 "You poor child," said Jack, "what will she 
 do to you for your disobedience ? "
 
 38 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, and, for that matter, I 
 don't care," said Ethel, recklessly. " She will 
 shut me up, and keep me on bread and water, 
 perhaps. Fancy papa's daughter in that con- 
 dition ! " 
 
 "But your father expected me to call upon 
 you, I am sure," said Jack. " He spoke about it 
 in New York." 
 
 "Poor, dear pa," answered Ethel. "How 
 angry he would be if he knew of this. I won- 
 der if I should be permitted to see him ? No, 
 I am not to see you or anybody else. I say 
 it 's a shame, a perfect outrage ! " she went on, 
 vehemently. "I have a great mind to rebel." 
 
 " I don't know what you call this," said Jack, 
 laughing. " I should call it rebellion, with a 
 vengeance." 
 
 " So it is," answered Ethel, " and I am glad 
 of it ; but I must go back. Good-by ! " and back 
 she ran. As she turned toward the house, her 
 eye caught the flutter of a white handkerchief 
 at one of the upper windows, and behind it 
 Lizzie Highgate's gypsy face, and she said 
 to herself, while her lip curled with scorn : 
 "That's Miss Highgate's idea of propriety."
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 39 
 
 Miss Carpenter met her at the door, saying, 
 in her primmest manner : 
 
 " You may go to your room, Miss Townsend, 
 and remain there while I confer with Madam 
 Leonard." 
 
 Ethel looked at her with stormy eyes, but 
 she did not reply, as she passed on to her room, 
 which she' reached full of wrath and indig- 
 nation. She expected to find Kitty and to pour 
 her woes into her sympathetic ear, but Miss 
 Carpenter had taken care that Ethel should be 
 left quite alone until she was summoned to the 
 dread presence of Madam Leonard. 
 
 But after learning of Ethel's unheard-of dis- 
 obedience, that politic woman was completely at 
 a loss as to what it was best to do. She knew 
 that Ethel would not bear any very humiliating 
 punishment, and she was far too profitable a 
 pupil to lose. Sending Miss Carpenter to her 
 duties, she pondered deeply upon the subject, 
 and at last decided that her refractory pupil 
 must be conciliated, however mortifying it 
 might be. Pulling the bell-rope at her side, 
 madam said to the servant who answered it : 
 
 " Go to Miss Townsend's room, and ask her
 
 40 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 if she will be kind enough to come to me into 
 the library." 
 
 Ethel obeyed the polite summons, and was 
 met at the door by Madam Leonard. 
 
 " I am very sorry for this, my child," she said, 
 with a sorrowful smile. 
 
 Ethel's eyes blazed, but she did not speak. 
 She was too angry. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear, and let us talk it over. 
 You must not think that I do not know just 
 how you feel : I do know all about it, and I 
 sympathize with you too. Yes, dear, I do," 
 she repeated, seeing an incredulous look in 
 Ethel's eyes, " although it may be hard for you 
 to think so. You see, Ethel," she went on, 
 artfully, "that, while I would do anything in 
 my power to make you happy, I must maintain 
 the dignity of my household. You cannot see 
 any reason why you should not receive a call 
 from your young friend, and under other circum- 
 stances there would be none. But put yourself 
 in my place, for a moment, if you can. What 
 would be the result of my permitting such 
 a thing? Would not the other young ladies 
 insist upon the same privilege ? Would Lizzie
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 41 
 
 Highgate, or Kitty Brewster, or Edith Preble, 
 say, smilingly : ' It is perfectly proper for Ethel 
 Townsend to receive the young collegians 
 but it would not be proper for me ' ? You 
 know they would not. Why, my dear child," 
 she went on, with engaging sweetness, " I have 
 not a plain or uninteresting young lady in my 
 house. Ah ! how I should like to bring you all 
 out, if I were in society, and if I should open 
 my house to the students, it would be overrun 
 with them," and here she ventured to pat 
 Ethel's hand gently. " Ethel, dear, don't you 
 see I could n't do it ? " 
 
 " But papa invited him to call upon me," said 
 Ethel, her anger fast dying out. 
 
 "Yes, dear," answered Madam Leonard, "I 
 do not doubt that at all, but he did not under- 
 stand the difficulties in the case. I am sure he 
 would sustain me if he did." 
 
 "Perhaps he would," answered Ethel, can- 
 didly; "but why should Miss Carpenter treat 
 us as she does ? She takes every opportunity 
 to be disagreeable, and we all detest her for it." 
 
 "Detest is a strong word, my dear," said 
 Madam Leonard, smiling. " But did it ever
 
 42 THE WIDOW 
 
 occur to you that she might be one of my trials, 
 too ? You have had a great trial to-day, and I 
 am showing you both sympathy and confidence 
 in speaking in this way. I should not dare to 
 speak of Miss Carpenter as I have done to any- 
 body else in the house." And she spoke truly. 
 She knew that Ethel was the soul of honor. 
 "She is a fine scholar, and an able teacher, and 
 is invaluable to me in many ways. I do not 
 think I could find anybody to quite fill her 
 place. When I first received young ladies in 
 this way I had a charming young teacher whom 
 they all loved, but I found after a while that 
 they did not get on as they ought, and, upon 
 investigation, I discovered that she not only 
 was not sufficiently learned herself, but that 
 she had not the gift of imparting to others 
 what she did know, so I was obliged to dismiss 
 her. Miss Carpenter came to me with the 
 highest testimonials, and I engaged her at 
 once. She is not very amiable, I know, but she 
 suits me in other respects, so I do not like to 
 give her up;" and seeing that Ethel was in a 
 very different frame of mind to when she en- 
 tered, she thought it safe to dismiss her, which 
 she did with these words :
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 43 
 
 "Now, my dear, I am going to recommend a 
 dose of medicine. What should a little girl, 
 who' has disobeyed, and been let off with a 
 short lecture, do ? " 
 
 Ethel looked up inquiringly. 
 
 " She can do no less than apologize, can 
 she ? " 
 
 " Do you mean that I shall write a note to 
 Miss Carpenter?" asked Ethel. 
 
 " I will leave it entirely with you, Ethel," said 
 Madam Leonard, knowing very well that Ethel 
 would do as she desired. 
 
 Ethel went to her room, but she was hardly 
 satisfied. 
 
 " I don't know what makes me distrust 
 Madam Leonard so," she said to herself. " What 
 she says seems reasonable enough. All the 
 same, I don't like her. I feel as though I ought 
 to keep saying, 'From hatred' and malice and 
 all uncharitableness,' etc. I '11 write to papa. 
 He understands me better than anybody else." 
 And seizing her pen, she wrote : 
 
 " MY DEAR PAPA, You have called me, 
 many times, a clear-headed young lady. Well, 
 do you know that I sometimes wish that I were
 
 44 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 a little stupid, like other people. I should then 
 be considered much more amiable and chari- 
 table than I am at present. I am not trying 
 to mystify you, but shall come to the point at 
 once. I wish I had no doubts about Madam 
 Leonard. You thought her charming, and are, 
 no doubt, secretly hoping that your daughter 
 may grow to be like her. Heaven forbid ! 
 The other young ladies think her sweet and 
 lovely. They grow very enthusiastic over her, 
 and wonder at my coldness on the subject. 
 They are equally agreed in detesting Miss 
 Carpenter. Now there is no doubt at all 
 about Miss Carpenter's being detestable ; but 
 the question will keep rising in my mind, 
 whether Madam Leonard is not equally so. 
 Miss Carpenter surely does not make the rules. 
 They are made by madam herself, and it is safe 
 to conclude that they are carried out by her 
 orders, and I can say truly that they are 
 carried out with a vengeance. ' Eternal vigi- 
 lance ' is Miss Carpenter's motto ; she is faith- 
 ful to her employer, which is the only admi- 
 rable thing about her. But what seems strange 
 to me is the superficial way in which the
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 45 
 
 young ladies look at this matter ; at least, all 
 but Edith Preble, who says very little. She is 
 engaged, and does n't seem to care for small 
 annoyances. Kitty proposes that we all get 
 engaged, and then we shall see nothing but the 
 faces of our beloved ones, and shall not need to 
 be watched. But this is a digression. 
 
 " To go back to Madam Leonard : she seems 
 to me just like those high-toned politicians 
 we know of, who employ those beneath them 
 socially to do their dirty work a cold, cal- 
 culating woman, with 'a hand of iron and a 
 heart of steel.' I sometimes wonder if she 
 ever felt one generous impulse. Going to her 
 from my warm-hearted, generous, impulsive 
 Kitty is like foolishly eating an ice after a 
 hot dinner. It strikes a chill to one's very 
 marrow. I feel a chill creep into my heart 
 whenever I approach her, and it remains while 
 I am in her presence. I am rather glad to 
 write this instead of saying it, for you would 
 interrupt me with questions and apologies for 
 madam, and otherwise distract me, and you 
 know that I am never satisfied until I have 
 'said my say.'
 
 46 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "There is another thing that I cannot under- 
 stand, and that is our proximity to the uni- 
 versity. Kitty says that it is because two or 
 three of the girls have brothers there, and 
 their parents persuaded madam to change her 
 residence, which was formerly near Philadel- 
 phia. But it can hardly be for that reason, 
 since the students are not allowed to call upon 
 the young ladies upon any pretext whatsoever, 
 neither are we allowed to go where we shall be 
 likely to meet them. What will you think 
 when I tell you that I was forbidden to see 
 Jack Fenton this afternoon ? I did see him, 
 however, but it was by wilful disobedience, for 
 which I am in disgrace. I have been lectured 
 by madam, and I must write a note of apology 
 to Miss Carpenter for defying her authority, 
 but I fancy it will not be very satisfactory to 
 her. What do you think about it ? 
 
 " Oh ! yes, dear papa, this is undoubtedly a 
 'safe place for girls.' But you must not think 
 me unhappy. Indeed, I think I rather enjoy 
 this new experience. It is an amazing ex- 
 perience I assure you; for it gives me an 
 opportunity to study different characters,
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 47 
 
 unusual characters, it seems to me. And 
 then I have something to look forward to, for 
 every day brings us nearer to that blessed, old 
 Yankee feast-day Thanksgiving. I am to 
 spend that and the three following days with 
 Kitty in Boston. 
 
 " You cannot think how kind the Brewsters 
 are to your daughter. Mrs. Brewster came to 
 see Kitty last week, and brought the loveliest 
 flowers ; you can imagine how I reveled in 
 them. She is a charming woman, and she 
 invited me, in the warmest manner, to visit 
 them. She idolizes Kitty, and Kitty loves me, 
 so you see I am in an enviable position. Dido 
 is in despair because she cannot cook my 
 Thanksgiving dinner. She seems contented, 
 and always says : ' Say howdy to yer paw,' 
 but poor Dumps; you would laugh to hear 
 her go on. She says : ' Dis yer Norf is drefful 
 fur de mizzry in my head, and my pore ole 
 bones.' She says that I shall send her home 
 in a little box, and I shall hear her bones rattle 
 round like peas in a pod. When I get low- 
 spirited I go to see her, and she does really 
 cheer me up, as you predicted. She is very
 
 48 THE WIDOW WTSE, 
 
 bright, and so ridiculously solemn, and makes 
 such droll speeches, that no one could help 
 laughing at her. 
 
 " How strange that you should run across 
 'the Widow Wyse,' as Kitty calls her. She 
 was Madam Leonard's pet pupil, and Lizzie 
 Highgate's most intimate friend, so we hear a 
 good deal about her. You did not say whether 
 you were favorably impressed by her or not. 
 I hope not, for I am sure I should not like 
 her. I hear you say : ' Could prejudice go 
 farther ? ' All the same, your Teddy is almost 
 always right. 
 
 " Mrs. Brewster writes that your friend, 
 Richard Apthorpe, returned last week, so I 
 suppose you did not meet him as you hoped. 
 Kitty says that he is very clever and very 
 critical, and that she is awfully afraid of him. 
 She says that I shall be sure to meet him, as 
 he and her mamma are the best of friends. 
 Now, is it not very sweet of Kitty to invite 
 me to her home ? Such a rest as it will be 
 from Madam Leonard's. 
 
 " Your letters are such a comfort to me ; you 
 would laugh, I am sure, if you could know how
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 49 
 
 many times I have read your last. Indeed, I 
 do not know myself. I take a peep into it 
 whenever I get a moment's time. I like your 
 way of writing letters jotting down interest- 
 ing things as they occur, like keeping a jour- 
 nal. And this reminds me of my promise 
 to you when you left me. 
 
 " Now, dear papa, I cannot understand why 
 you should wish me to keep a journal. In 
 the first place it is mighty hard (a darkeyism), 
 and I have been trying to find a sufficient 
 excuse for not doing it. And I must tell you 
 of one which came to me yesterday, in the 
 shape of a story a true one, told by Lizzie 
 Highgate. 
 
 "It seems that one of her acquaintances, 
 a lady prominent in society, had for years kept, 
 a diary of the smallest events concerning her 
 household matters. Of the expenses, and the 
 trouble she had in getting the necessary 
 money from 'that stingy man' to meet them. 
 Of the frequent quarrels between herself and 
 'that horrid man.' Of her joy when the 
 ' hateful old bear ' went away, and of the peace- 
 fulness which came over the household in
 
 50 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 consequence of his absence ; and of the trials, 
 troubles, and tribulations of married life gener- 
 ally. All of which was true, no doubt, and it 
 must have been a great relief to the poor 
 woman's overburdened soul thus to confide in 
 her dumb friend, the journal. And it would 
 have been all right, and a great comfort for her 
 to read over, and thus bring often to mind the 
 cruelties practised upon an amiable and, of 
 course, inoffensive woman. But alas ! one day, 
 after tiring herself to death cutting out gar- 
 ments for the poor, she was very charitable 
 withal, she drew from its hiding-place the 
 beloved journal, and, after reading a few lines 
 let it drop into her lap, while her thoughts 
 (probably) went back to the days of her girl- 
 hood, with scores of lovers to choose from, any 
 one of whom well! well! well! how her 
 thoughts flew from one to another, when 
 the doorbell rang. There was a summons to 
 the drawing-room, and madam, rising hastily, 
 let the journal fall among the cuttings at her 
 feet, and the servant, coming in a few minutes 
 later, gathered up all for the ragbag, the con- 
 tents of which were sold that very afternoon.
 
 SCHOOL LIFE CONTINUED. 5 I 
 
 " Alas ! the worthy ragman had a wife, who, 
 with the curiosity natural to her sex, went 
 through that ragbag. You can imagine the 
 result. Before two days had passed the town 
 was ringing with the scandal. The ' Is it 
 possibles?' and 'I told you sos' were upon 
 every lip. You can fancy the feelings of the 
 poor victims. 
 
 " Now, papa, you must give me back my 
 promise, while I make a solemn vow never, 
 never to keep a journal. 
 
 " I wonder how much longer I am to stay 
 alone. They have taken Kitty away to punish 
 me, but I am sure it is as much of a punish- 
 ment for her as it is for me. Thus, you see, 
 the good suffer for the evil deeds of the wicked. 
 I shall now proceed to write that note of 
 apology. 
 
 " Your naughty, but unrepentant, 
 
 "TEDDY."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SOPHOMORES. 
 
 " WELL, old fellow ! what success ? Got your 
 labor for your pains, eh ? I told you so," said 
 Joe Highgate to Jack Fenton on his return 
 from his visit to Ethel. 
 
 " By Jove, Joe ! I Ve a good mind to set fire 
 to the old shebang, and rescue the girls," said 
 Jack ; " the way they treat those poor little 
 nuns is an outrage on decency. I wonder Ethel 
 Townsend bears it. But you would have lost 
 your bet, old man, for I did see her, although 
 I was told I could n't. She rushed by that 
 old dragon of a Carpenter like a whirlwind. 
 Heavens ! how her eyes blazed ! I tell you, Joe, 
 she's a trump." 
 
 "I say," drawled Joe, "an idea strikes me." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " queried Jack. " Let us 
 have it within a week. When an idea strikes 
 you, it generally knocks you senseless." 
 
 "It does, eh?" answered Joe, in his slowest 
 way. "Perhaps you had better wait until I
 
 THE SOPHOMORES. 53 
 
 "When you will probably forget all about 
 it." 
 
 " Never you mind, my boy," answered Joe, 
 good-naturedly. "Just you get the fellows 
 together this evening. I am going to town 
 now." Said "fellows" being half a dozen 
 sophomores, as full of diablerie as themselves. 
 
 The next Saturday, as the young ladies were 
 being marshaled along in the usual fashion, 
 they saw in the distance what seemed to be a 
 funeral procession coming toward them. As 
 it came nearer, however, they saw that it was 
 a party of young men, all dressed in solemn 
 black, and marching, along in exact imitation 
 of themselves. At the head walked Jack 
 Fenton, and at the foot Joe Highgate, as 
 keepers, bending upon the others an anxious, 
 I-pan't-trust-you-a-minute look. No one of the 
 students raised his eyes for a moment from the 
 ground, or gave the smallest sign that they 
 were aware of the presence of the young ladies. 
 It was irresistibly comical, so intensely funny 
 that no one could help laughing. The girls 
 struggled for a moment to restrain their gig- 
 gles, then burst tumultuously into convulsive
 
 54 TH E V/IDOW WYSE. 
 
 fits of laughter. The corners of Miss Eliza's 
 mouth twitched, but whether from anger or 
 amusement, they could not determine. Miss 
 Carpenter was adamant. The girls lost all 
 control over themselves, and, after trying in 
 vain to restore their minds to anything like 
 a serious, contemplative enjoyment of the 
 beauties of nature, Miss Carpenter decided to 
 return to the house. But the young men had 
 not yet nnfshed their wild prank. 
 
 "Here, you little Zaccheus," said Joe High- 
 gate to Charlie Adams, the smallest of their 
 number, " shinny up that tree, will you ? and 
 see when the little dears turn, and we '11 meet 
 'em again." 
 
 The second meeting was even more of a 
 trial for the girls than the first, but they finally 
 reached home and congregated in the young 
 ladies' parlor, while Miss Carpenter, with her 
 face aflame, and the corners of her mouth 
 drawn down in the most uncompromising way, 
 went to seek Madam Leonard. 
 
 "Oh, what a lark!" said Lizzie Highgate. 
 This remark was greeted with a shout of laugh- 
 ter, followed by a chorus of voices.
 
 THE SOPHOMORES. 
 
 55 
 
 " Was n't it good ! Three cheers for the 
 sophs. ! " etc. 
 
 " It was the best thing I ever heard of," said 
 Ethel, " and if Miss Carpenter was n't made 
 of stone throughout, she could n't have looked 
 so much like a statue through it all. And poor 
 Miss Eliza ! how she wanted to laugh ! Did n't 
 you pity the poor thing ? Oh ! it was too 
 good ; I tell you, girls, those boys ought to be 
 rewarded for their cleverness. I d<3n't believe 
 that girls, even, could have done better." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried all in a breath. " Let 's 
 show them that we can appreciate a good thing 
 when we see it ; what shall we do ? " 
 
 " Wait until after our lecture, for you may 
 be sure that we shall be blamed in some way 
 for this," said Ethel, " and then we will see." 
 
 "I am sure," said Edith Preble, "that if 
 Miss Carpenter would use a little common 
 sense, and not force us to appear so ridiculous, 
 the young men would never have thought 
 of this." 
 
 Although prepared for the long lecture which 
 came, as was anticipated, Ethel was very indig- 
 nant, for she knew that it was very unjust
 
 56 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 in Miss Carpenter to even hint of blame as 
 far they were concerned, and without allowing 
 herself time to think, or to consult with the 
 girls, she seized her pen as soon as she reached 
 her room and wrote to "Jack Fenton and 
 Friends," as follows : 
 
 " GENTLEMEN, Your motives are under- 
 stood. We are no longer the simple-minded 
 maidens of this morning. During a lecture 
 this evening on the wickedness of young men 
 in general, and the total depravity of college 
 young men in particular, we were told that 
 you are 'roaring lions going about seeking 
 whom you may devour,' though to tell the 
 truth you did look like the meekest and mildest 
 of lambs, but that was, of course, all outside 
 appearance. Therefore, it was decreed that, 
 on Saturday next, we turn to the sunny left, 
 and leave our beloved woods to you. Hoping 
 that you will no longer disturb our quiet peace- 
 fulness, we remain, 
 
 " Your natural enemies, 
 "THE YOUNG LADIES OF MADAM LEONARD'S."
 
 THE SOPHOMORES. 57 
 
 The result was what might have been 
 expected. They had scarcely walked a quarter 
 of a mile the Saturday following, when, seeing 
 the same slow procession of the Saturday 
 before advancing, Miss Carpenter suddenly 
 wheeled her charges, and with undignified 
 haste led them back to the house, saying, 
 
 " Now, young ladies, we will have no more 
 promenades until the proprieties can be 
 observed." 
 
 This was what Ethel had not bargained for. 
 She did not like to give up the Saturday 
 promenade, although it was made disagreeable 
 by the presence of her tormentors ; besides, 
 she felt not a little ashamed of her part in the 
 proceedings. There was a good deal of talk 
 among the girls, but she preserved a discreet 
 silence. Finally, after thinking the matter 
 over for a few days, she wrote the following 
 letter to Jack Fenton : x 
 
 "DEAR JACK, We were so delighted with 
 the first act of your performance that with one 
 mind and one voice we cried encore. That 
 enthusiasm has cost us dear. The strictest
 
 58 THEWIDOW WTSE. 
 
 watch is kept over us, and we are pining for 
 our accustomed walk. We are forced to take 
 our exercise in the gymnasium and within the 
 grounds. I am sure you will wish to know that 
 we shall not be permitted to go beyond them 
 until Miss Carpenter is quite sure that we 
 shall not again encounter ' the roaring lions ' 
 from yonder menagerie. Do not answer this, 
 for we are not allowed to receive letters with- 
 out previous examination by Madam Leonard, 
 except from our parents. I get this to you 
 through Dumps. E. x." 
 
 Jack Fenton comprehended the situation, 
 and at once set about making arrangements 
 to offer the amende honorable. After consult- 
 ^ing his comrades he wrote as follows : 
 
 "DEAR MADAM LEONARD, Regretting our 
 thoughtless joke, and fearing that it may have 
 led to unpleasant consequences for innocent 
 persons, we beg leave to offer our most 
 humble apologies, and to pledge our word 
 of honor that, so far as we are concerned, 
 nothing of the kind shall occur again. Hoping
 
 THE SOPHOMORES. 59 
 
 that you will pardon us, we are, with the high- 
 est consideration, 
 
 " Your friends, 
 
 "THE STUDENTS." 
 
 No further allusion was ever made to the 
 subject at Madam Leonard's, and everything 
 went on as usual until the day before Thanks- 
 giving, when the girls living near went home 
 for a short vacation.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS'. 
 
 KITTY and Ethel were in the wildest pos- 
 sible spirits when they reached the Brewster 
 mansion, which was ablaze with light and 
 fragrant with flowers. Kitty rushed into her 
 mother's arms, saying, 
 
 " You dear, blessed old mamma, do you 
 know how glad I am ? " 
 
 "Yes, dear," answered Mrs. Brewster, smil- 
 ing, "and I am sure you know how glad we are, 
 too." Then turning to Ethel she kissed her 
 on both cheeks, saying, 
 
 " My dear child, nothing would please us 
 more than to have you consider yourself 
 Kitty's sister while you are here. Pray, make 
 yourself as thoroughly at home as possible." 
 
 There was a sudden rush of tears to Ethel's 
 brown eyes at this warm greeting. She could 
 only look her thanks, but she felt sure that 
 Mrs. Brewster understood how grateful she was. 
 Then Mr. Brewster came in, saying,
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS'. 6 1 
 
 " Well, Kittikin, you look as though you 
 had begun to give thanks already." 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa, we began the instant we left 
 Madam Leonard's." 
 
 He welcomed Ethel very cordially, and she 
 felt at her ease at once. Mr. Brewster, 
 although a thorough man of business, was a 
 delightful host, cordial and sympathetic, with a 
 smile and a kind word for all. He wks a tall, 
 handsome man, with dark, piercing eyes, and 
 hair plentifully sprinkled with gray. 
 
 "Now, my dears," said Mrs. Brewster, "run 
 upstairs and dress for dinner." 
 
 " But where is Margaret ? " asked Kitty. 
 
 "She is in her room," answered her mother. 
 " She arrived only an hour ago, and feeling 
 rather tired with her journey, I persuaded her 
 to lie down. You will see her soon. Take 
 Ethel to Margaret's old room, and make your- 
 selves presentable. Your trunks have gone up. 
 Shall I send Mary to you ? " 
 
 "Oh! no," answered Kitty, "we are in- 
 dependent of Marys, are n't we, Ethel ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed," she answered, "among other 
 good things we have learned to wait on our- 
 selves, and I think we rather like it."
 
 62 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 Kitty led the way to her own room first, and 
 as Ethel caught a glimpse of its dainty fur- 
 nishings of pink and blue she \vas m ecstasies. 
 
 "Oh! how lovely it is," she exclaimed. 
 "How dreadful Madam Leonard's must seem 
 to you." 
 
 "It is my discipline, my dear," said Kitty, 
 philosophically. " I appreciate it all the more 
 when I am permitted to enjoy it. But this is 
 your room, next to mine ; it used to be 
 Margaret's. How do you like it ? The yellow 
 hangings just suit your hair." 
 
 "It is simply perfect," answered Ethel, 
 " and those yellow roses what a profusion of 
 them ! " 
 
 "Yes," answered Kitty, "if there is any one 
 thing that mamma fairly dotes upon, it is 
 flowers. They are sent in twice a week from 
 our country-place, a few miles out." 
 
 Ethel was soon arrayed in a dark-green silk 
 trimmed with plush of the same shade, with 
 a dainty bit of lace at the throat and a cluster 
 of the yellow roses. 
 
 "What a picture you are, and how quickly 
 you dress. I shall wear something you have
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS'. 63 
 
 never seen. How do you like it ? " asked Kitty, 
 as she threw on a lovely fawn-colored cashmere 
 trimmed with fans of cardinal silk. 
 
 "It is charming," said Ethel, "and it just 
 suits you. How beautifully it lights up." 
 
 " Now I must have some flowers to match 
 my trimming," said Kitty, as she rang the 
 bell and ordered some Jacqueminots for her 
 corsage. 
 
 "How do you know there are any?" asked 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Oh, there are sure to be some, for they are 
 mamma's favorites. She is very particular 
 about the flowers." 
 
 Just then Mary returned with the flowers, 
 and after fastening them in their proper places, 
 the two girls descended. Mrs. Onslow met 
 them at the foot of the stairs. She was Kitty's 
 only sister, and was a lovely woman, with a 
 pure, fair, young face, her head crowned with 
 beautiful, abundant, though prematurely gray 
 hair. This crown of glory was the wonder 
 and admiration of her friends. She looked 
 like a picture of some famous court beauty. 
 Kitty was very proud of her, and she looked
 
 64 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 for the admiration in Ethel's eyes she was sure 
 to find there. Peeping shyly from behind her 
 mamma, "a lesser transcript of herself," was 
 little five-year-old Gertrude, shaking down her 
 heavy, dark hair until her face was fairly 
 covered. 
 
 " Oh, you little nun, put back that black 
 veil ! " exclaimed Kitty, trying to catch her 
 as she ran, with a laugh as sweet and soft as 
 the trill of a bird, toward the drawing-room. 
 
 What a happy evening it was ! It was nearly 
 midnight when they said good-night, Kitty 
 saying to Ethel : 
 
 " I wonder how it will seem to be allowed 
 to finish our morning nap ? I shall not stir 
 i ntil half-;:ast eight, and you must not either." 
 
 " 1 shall obey that command without a mur- 
 mur," answered Ethel with the last good-night. 
 
 " Have you provided for your poor pets ? " 
 asked Kitty of her mamma the next morning. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " answered Mrs. Brewster. 
 "They will all have a good dinner to-day." 
 
 " I believe that mamma feeds more beggars," 
 said Kitty, " than any other person in Boston." 
 
 "That's a broad statement, my dear," said
 
 AT THE BREWSTER&. 65 
 
 her mother. " I do try to do some good to my 
 fellow-beings, but I do not give indiscrimi- 
 nately; I make a personal investigation in every 
 case, and I am sure that those to whom I 
 give are worthy." . ; 
 
 "I should think that that would often be 
 very unpleasant," said Ethel. 
 
 " Duty is none the less duty because it' is 
 unpleasant, my dear," answered Mrs. Brewster, 
 smiling. " I should feel as though I were 
 shifting my responsibility to other shoulders, 
 if I did not visit my poor myself besides it 
 is not all unpleasant. There are many sun- 
 shiny spots in the dwellings of the poor. Their 
 gratitude is often worth more to me than the 
 trouble I take for them, and they set an 
 example of patience, sometimes, that it would 
 be well for more fortunate ones to imitate. 
 But now with regard to yourselves ; what will 
 you do to-day ? " 
 
 "For my part," answered Ethel, "I should 
 like to just stay here quietly, and enjoy my 
 freedom in this lovely house." 
 
 " So you shall, my dear," answered Kitty. 
 " And after luncheon, if you like, we will take 
 a little drive about the city."
 
 66 THE WIDOW wrsE. 
 
 "That will suit me exactly," answered Ethel, 
 "for I have not seen Boston since I was a little 
 girl; but for the present, I shall just feast my 
 eyes on these lovely adornments," looking 
 about the charmingly attractive drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster was a lady of exquisite taste, 
 passionately fond of flowers, and very skilful 
 in arranging them. They met the eye at every 
 turn. There were large pots and lovely jars 
 of growing plants, blossoming profusely, in hall 
 and reception-room, and exquisite vases of cut 
 flowers in library and drawing-room. 
 
 She had a pretty fancy of ornamenting the 
 breakfast-table with a glass vase filled with 
 cool-looking, graceful ferns, which were very 
 refreshing to look at. Her house was filled 
 with fine painting, statuary, and other works 
 of art. Wealth and good taste had combined 
 to make it one of the most attractive houses 
 in Boston. It was fortunate for Ethel, stranger 
 as she was, that she should have fallen in 
 with the Brewsters, true representative Bosto- 
 nians, thus enabling her to see Boston as it 
 really is. 
 
 " You will have callers to-day, young ladies,"
 
 A T THE BRE WS TERS\ 6 7 
 
 said Mrs. Brewster, a few hours later, " for 
 everybody knows you are here, and Ethel may 
 expect her papa's old friend, Mr. Apthorpe, who 
 is very desirous of seeing her. I saw him 
 yesterday, and told him you were to be here." 
 
 " Oh, I shall be so glad to see somebody 
 who knew papa when he was young ! " said 
 Ethel. " He is very fond of Mr. Apthorpe, and 
 has told me so much about him, that I feel 
 as though I knew him well. He is not married, 
 I believe." 
 
 "No," answered Mrs. Brewster, "his widowed 
 sister, Mrs. Amesbury, keeps his house, and 
 is a very lovely woman. They proposed taking 
 you away at once." 
 
 "Well, that was a cool proposition," said 
 Kitty. " I should like to see them do it. She 
 should n't go away from me, even if she wanted 
 to ; she belongs here !" 
 
 "Don't be so impetuous, Kitten," said Mrs. 
 Brewster, smiling. 
 
 "She is only 'making believe,' dear Mrs. 
 Brewster," said Ethel. " She knows perfectly 
 well that wild horses, even, could n't drag me 
 away from this lovely home."
 
 68 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 Just then a young lady was ushered into their 
 presence. Ethel felt that she brought a breeze 
 from the outside world with her. She greeted 
 Kitty effusively, and was then introduced to 
 Ethel as Kitty's friend, Miss Cleveland. 
 
 Nana Cleveland was a tall, stylish young lady, 
 with a brilliant brunette complexion and hand- 
 some dark eyes, rather overdressed, and with 
 very decided opinions, which she seemed not at 
 all afraid to express. She was bright and clever 
 of speech, but so unpleasantly sharp at times 
 that Ethel felt like trying to suppress her. 
 
 "I came, Miss Townsend," she said, "to offer 
 my congratulations for this outing. I was for- 
 merly a pupil at Madam Leonard's, and not a 
 favorite pupil, either. By the way," turning to 
 Kitty, " who is the favorite, now that the peer- 
 less Julia is no longer there ? " 
 
 " Lizzie Highgate, I think," answered Kitty. 
 " Do you know her ? " 
 
 " Little wasp ! " said Miss Cleveland, laugh- 
 ing ; " I think I do. But do you know why 
 she should be a favorite ? " 
 
 "It cannot be on account of her agreeable 
 manners," said Kitty.
 
 A T THE BRE WSTERS. 69 
 
 " I should think not," answered Miss Cleve- 
 land. "She was there my last year, and I found 
 her out. It is because she tells madam every- 
 thing that happens among the girls, barring 
 her own tricks." 
 
 " She could n't be so mean ! " exclaimed 
 Ethel, indignantly. 
 
 "If you think Miss Highgate overburdened 
 with a sense of honor, Miss Townsend, it shows 
 that you don't know her ; but you will be likely 
 to become acquainted with her before the year 
 is out," said Miss Cleveland. "But what are 
 you going to do with yourselves ? " 
 
 "They will rest to-day," answered Mrs. 
 Brewster, "and then prepare for a quiet little 
 dancing-party which I propose to give for them 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 "Oh, mamma!" broke in Kitty; "you are 
 a jewel of the first water. My feet are fairly 
 aching to dance ; and see ! Ethel's eyes are 
 dancing already. I really cannot keep still," 
 she went on, jumping up and executing a little 
 pirouette, 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Brewster ! " said Miss Cleveland, 
 noticing that lady's look of disapproval ; " do
 
 70 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 let the poor things enjoy their holiday. Think 
 of the tortures in store for them on their 
 return." 
 
 " You should say discipline, Nana," said Mrs. 
 Brewster. " I am sure Kitty shows a lack of it 
 this morning. I am afraid that Madam Leonard 
 is scarcely strict enough." 
 
 There was an indignant exclamation from 
 Kitty, while Nana said: 
 
 " She must have changed wonderfully since 
 my last year if that is true. Kitty has my full 
 sympathy. But I want to hear all about it," 
 turning to that young lady; "you girls must 
 spend a day with me before you go back. Shall 
 it be Saturday ? I suppose you return to your 
 cells on Monday ? " 
 
 " I cannot spare them to you this time, 
 Nana," said Mrs. Brewster, answering for them. 
 " Mr. Apthorpe has begged for Ethel without 
 avail, and he has some claim upon her, being 
 one of her papa's oldest friends.'" 
 
 " Oh ! do you know that dear, delightful old 
 roaring lion, Miss Townsend ? He will prob- 
 ably show you his amiable side, though I 
 confess he often shows the other to me."
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS 1 . 71 
 
 " I saw him once," answered Ethel; "but I 
 remember very little of him. Papa is very fond 
 of talking of him. He is very clever, is he 
 not?" 
 
 " Clever does not express it at all," answered 
 Miss Cleveland. " He is a wonderful man, my 
 dear : very talented, a great wit, and perfectly 
 at home with every subject, but dreadfully self- 
 opinionated. He won't allow himself to be 
 contradicted ; and when you see him shake his 
 mane, look out for a roar." 
 
 "You terrify me, Miss Cleveland," said 
 Ethel ; " I am not very courageous, and you 
 make me dread to meet him." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," she answered, " I predict 
 that you will be one of the favored few, and 
 to be in favor with Mr. Apthorpe is to be 
 considered a very lucky person. You will be 
 pronounced a beauty, or a very clever girl, and 
 perhaps both, at once, for Mr. Apthorpe never 
 notices a woman unless she has, at least, one 
 of these qualifications." 
 
 Ethel decided that she did n't like Miss 
 Cleveland at all, and Mrs. Brewster thought 
 it high time to interfere.
 
 72 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 "My dear," she said, turning to Nana, "you 
 are talking supreme nonsense. Mr. Apthorpe 
 certainly appreciates a clever woman, and he 
 looks upon a pretty one as he would upon a 
 lovely picture ; only, unfortunately, he often 
 finds that the canvas possesses quite as much 
 soul as the flesh and blood." 
 
 " Oh ! please, Mrs. Brewster," said Miss 
 Cleveland, with mock humility, "don't crush 
 me any more. Let me up, and I '11 be good." 
 
 " Oh, well, Miss Nana, you deserved to be 
 crushed," said Mrs. Brewster: "you were trying 
 to give Ethel a false impression." 
 
 " I was only trying to put her on her guard," 
 protested Miss Cleveland, " so that she need 
 not- walk directly into the lion's mouth, that 
 was all. It is quite a pity, Miss Townsend," 
 she went on, turning to Ethel, " that the charm- 
 ing Gerald is abroad. He is not expected until 
 Christmas." 
 
 "And who is 'the charming Gerald/ Miss 
 Cleveland ? You forget that I am a stranger," 
 said Ethel. 
 
 " You don't mean to say," said Miss Cleve- 
 land, holding up her hands in astonishment,
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS. 73 
 
 " that you have never heard of Major Apthorpe ? 
 Tell her about His Elegance, Mrs. Brewster 
 words fail me." 
 
 Mrs. Brewster shook her finger warningly 
 at Nana, as she answered : 
 
 " He is Mr. Apthorpe's youngest and 
 favorite brother, and, for a gentleman of 
 elegant leisure, is the busiest man I know. 
 He is in great demand socially, being a ready, 
 graceful speaker, and perfectly au fait in all 
 matters of etiquette." 
 
 "You are to understand, Miss Townsend," 
 said Nana, in a mocking tone, "that Boston 
 would not be Boston without Major Apthorpe. 
 He is the social axle on which the Hub turns." 
 
 They all laughed at this retort, while Mrs. 
 Brewster answered, quietly : 
 
 " I am sure the Hub appreciates him, and 
 I, for one, am proud of such a representative. 
 I know of no family who could have entertained 
 ' our late distinguished visitors ' as gracefully 
 as the Apthorpes. The major does not spend 
 his time and talents in mere amusements, but 
 he takes the keenest interest in those less 
 favored than himself."
 
 74 THE V/IDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Cats and dogs, for instance," interrupted 
 Nana. 
 
 "Oh, no!" broke in Kitty, who had not 
 spoken before since the last subject was intro- 
 duced ; " they say he hates cats and women : 
 women because they are like cats, and cats 
 because they are like women." 
 
 "Oh, Kittikin, Kittikin ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Brewster. " I shall certainly have to send you 
 to the nursery." Then turning to Ethel, she 
 said : 
 
 "Major Apthorpe is a true gentleman. He 
 is quite as kind and thoughtful in his attentions 
 to older people as to the most petted society 
 belle, and true gentleness is a rare quality 
 nowadays ; and if I needed any assistance 
 in my charitable work I should apply to him 
 sooner than to any other man." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," said Nana, " I don't deny 
 that he is charitable, in that sense ; and I will 
 acknowledge that he is polite, and can pick up 
 and restore a lady's fan with the most perfect 
 grace, and at the same time make her feel that 
 he considers that it was artfully dropped." 
 
 "Are you in the habit of dropping your fan,
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS\ 75 
 
 Miss Nana ? " asked Mrs. Brewster, in a provok- 
 ing tone. 
 
 " If I am I was never unfortunate enough 
 to have it returned by His Elegance," retorted 
 Miss Cleveland. " Seriously, what I particularly 
 object to in this thoroughly blast young man is 
 his manner of showing people how gracefully he 
 can endure being bored. One perfectly under- 
 stands that he has seen everything worth see- 
 ing, heard everything worth hearing, and knows 
 everything worth knowing. How I hate that 
 air of fine disdain which has become habitual. 
 I know of no more exasperating mortal living 
 than Major Gerald Apthorpe. He is perfectly 
 insufferable. m But, dear me ! what a waste of 
 time, when I had so many things to say ! I 
 hope, Miss Townsend, that you have been suf- 
 ficiently warned against falling in love with our 
 much-talked-of young man when you shall see 
 him. Snub him gently but firmly, my dear, and 
 who knows but what he may be piqued into fall- 
 ing in love himself. He would experience a 
 new sensation, I fancy. Now I must really go, 
 but I shall see you again." 
 
 As she rose Mrs. Brewster said :
 
 76 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "I hope we shall see you at our little party." 
 
 " Oh ! are you really going to be so good as 
 to let me come after abusing your paragon so? " 
 asked Nana. 
 
 "You don't deserve it," said Mrs. Brewster, 
 laughing ; " but I shall forgive you this time, 
 hoping for better things in future." 
 
 Many others called during the morning, and 
 after luncheon the two girls, with little Ger- 
 trude, went for a drive. When they returned, 
 two hours later, Mrs. Brewster met them at 
 the door, saying to Ethel, regretfully : 
 
 "I am sorry to tell you, my dear, that you 
 have missed seeing Mr. Apthorpe and Mrs. 
 Amesbury. They seemed disappointed in not 
 finding you ; but I promised to take you there 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 "I am sorry to have missed them," said 
 Ethel ; " but I cannot tell you how much I 
 dread meeting Mr. Apthorpe. I was looking 
 forward to it with a good deal of pleasure : 
 but Miss Cleveland has spoiled it all." 
 
 "Oh! you mustn't mind what Nana says," 
 answered Mrs. Brewster. "The Apthorpes do 
 not appreciate her as she thinks she deserves,
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS'. 77 
 
 and she feels it keenly. There is a want of 
 refinement about her, a brusqueness of manner 
 and speech, that is not pleasing. She was a 
 very precocious child, and she has been flattered 
 injudiciously." 
 
 " I am sure she seems to be popular," 
 said Kitty. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mrs. Brewster ; "she gen- 
 erally has a small court about her, for men like 
 to hear her talk : but they are a little afraid of 
 her sharp speeches. She is too audacious." 
 
 " I cannot understand why she should be," 
 said Kitty, "for Mrs. Cleveland is gentleness 
 itself." 
 
 "Yes," said her mamma; "and she is an 
 invalid, too, you know ; but such traces of poor 
 blood can generally be accounted for, if one 
 goes back far enough." 
 
 " Mamma is a thorough aristocrat, you see," 
 said Kitty, laughing, as the two girls went 
 upstairs to lay aside their wraps ; " but she has 
 such a dear, kind, charitable heart that very 
 few people suspect it." 
 
 "Oh, Kitty," said Ethel, the next morning, 
 as she was dressing for the much-dreaded visit,
 
 7 8 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " do tell me what to wear. I feel as though I 
 were going to be put on exhibition." 
 
 "Go just as you are! Miss Flora McFlimsy. 
 Why do you ask me ? you are always lovely." 
 
 "Goto! flatterer," answered Ethel. "It is 
 of no earthly use to ask you : you are preju- 
 diced. I '11 wear the plainest thing I have." 
 
 Ethel knew how to dress. Her toilettes 
 were always harmonious, and when she pre- 
 sented herself before Mrs. Brewster, as she 
 laughingly said, " for criticism," that lady was 
 delighted. She wore a black velvet costume, 
 which fitted her graceful form perfectly, and a 
 Gainsborough hat, which set off her lovely face 
 and brought out its beauty. The only color 
 about her was a cluster of yellow roses fastened 
 below the throat, a little to the left. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Brewster, who felt 
 that she needed encouragement, " you are 
 bewitching. You have set out to captivate 
 Richard Apthorpe and you will do it. I am 
 sure of it." 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs. Brewster," said Ethel, well 
 pleased, " do you really think I look well ? I am 
 so anxious to do my papa's daughter justice."
 
 AT THE BREWSTEKS?. 79 
 
 " Never fear for your papa's daughter, my 
 dear : I am very proud of her." 
 
 " MY DEAR PAPA, This is Sunday, the last 
 day of my visit at the Brewsters', which has 
 been thoroughly delightful. On Friday even- 
 ing Mrs. Brewster gave a small dancing-party. 
 She was kind enough to ask Jack Fenton on 
 my account, and was so pleased with him 
 that she invited him to come whenever he 
 liked. Was not that good of her ? But no one 
 could help liking Jack. He told me that he 
 was going into the country to spend Sunday 
 with one of his chums. So I did not see him 
 again. I am very proud of Jack. His man- 
 ners are perfect and he dances divinely. I 
 could see that the young ladies were quite im- 
 pressed by him, and it is not to be wondered 
 at. He seemed greatly superior to the other 
 young men present, some of whom were very 
 young. They all danced well, but they did not 
 seem to have any ideas, or if they did, they did 
 not know how to express them. They were all 
 alike in this respect. There was absolutely no 
 conversation, except between Jack and Miss
 
 8O THE WIDOW WTSB. 
 
 Nana Cleveland. This young lady was a for- 
 mer pupil of Madam Leonard's, and is a friend 
 of Kitty's. She is very bright and amusing, 
 and, while I do not wholly admire her, I like 
 to hear her talk. 
 
 " We see now the blessed result of what 
 Kitty calls our discipline. We enjoy everything 
 with so much more zest than we otherwise 
 could. I have not had a moment's time to 
 write before since I came, but I have saved up 
 everything until now, and shall tell you of all 
 our good times. (I am afraid I am getting 
 Yankeefied.) 
 
 " Why ! papa, dear, we have been almost 
 beside ourselves with happiness. And do you 
 know what a dear, delightful place Boston is ? 
 Of course, you do, in a degree, but it has 
 changed since you knew it. How many times 
 I have wished you were here since I came for 
 this little visit. Such lovely drives ! and such 
 charming people ! I called at Mr. Apthorpe's 
 on Friday. I started with fear and trembling, 
 and came away enchanted. What a thoroughly 
 charming man he is ! He said a great many 
 pleasant things of you. He noticed that I
 
 A T THE BRE WSTERS\ 8 1 
 
 have your eyes and the same firm mouth. You 
 always said that I had a wilful mouth, so it 
 seems that the same mouth can be firm in 
 one person and wilful in another. How is 
 that ? I should like a little explanation, if you 
 please. Mrs. Amesbury was very sweet and 
 cordial, and invited me to spend the Christmas 
 holidays with them. 
 
 " ' Of course she will ! ' said Mr. Apthorpe. 
 ' I should like to know who has a better right 
 to Ned Townsend's daughter than I.' ' You will 
 find it hard to make your peace with Kitty if 
 you take Ethel from us,' said Mrs. Brewster. 
 'You must teach Miss Kitty not to be selfish,' 
 said Mr. Apthorpe. 
 
 "They are the best of friends, and Mrs. 
 Brewster admires him immensely. Indeed, no 
 one could help it. You will be glad to know 
 that I have promised them a large part of the 
 Christmas holidays. The only drawback to my 
 delightful anticipations is the fact that Major 
 Apthorpe will be here. Why have you not 
 told me of the existence of this important 
 gentleman. So important, first of all to him- 
 self, according to Miss Cleveland, so important
 
 82 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to his friends, and so important to Boston. 
 Mrs. Amesbury talked of him constantly. It 
 was ' Gerald, Gerald,' during my entire call, 
 with now and then a 'Jed' from Mr. Apthorpe. 
 Evidently they have tried to spoil him, and 
 have succeeded admirably, but I hate conceited 
 people, and I am wicked enough to hope that 
 something will happen to keep him on the 
 other side until after the holidays. 
 
 " Papa, dear, if you should, by any means, get 
 hold of him, on no account let him go. Now, 
 am I not showing a very unamiable disposition 
 when everybody is so kind to me ? You must 
 be ashamed of me, and, to tell the truth, I am 
 ashamed of myself. All the same, I hope he 
 will not come, notwithstanding Kitty privately 
 assures me that he is really uncommonly nice. 
 
 " I want you to know Kitty's sister, Mrs. 
 Onslow. She is the loveliest woman I ever 
 saw, but she is very delicate in health. Kitty 
 and I are to visit her in the summer. Mr. 
 Onslow is very proud of his wife, but his mind 
 is unreasonably full of business. He seems 
 always in a hurry. I look upon him in amaze- 
 ment. He seems to have absolutely no
 
 AT THE BREWSTERS\ 83 
 
 leisure, and I find myself wondering how long 
 he will live in this way. All this seems very 
 strange to me. I have been so accustomed 
 to men of leisure, all my life, that I cannot 
 understand how any man can live in the midst 
 of excitement all the time, and keep his mental 
 balance ; but nobody else seems to mind it. 
 
 " Mr. Brewster is a busy man, too, but as 
 he leaves business behind him when he comes 
 home, he is able to rest. I think Mr. Onslow 
 must carry on business even in his sleep. 
 
 " To-morrow we go back to Madam Leonard's, 
 but I go with the lightest possible heart, having 
 such delightful anticipations. I shall live upon 
 them until they are realized. 
 
 " We went to St. Paul's this morning. The 
 rector preached a very eloquent sermon ; I 
 am sure you would have appreciated it. He 
 is so much in earnest himself that it is impossi- 
 ble that his hearers should not be in earnest, 
 too. No one could be drowsy under his preach- 
 ing. And it is such a fine place in which 
 to take a nap, too ! Such a lovely, curious 
 old church, with high boxes for pews. I am 
 ashamed to say that I was very much amused,
 
 84 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 during the service, to watch a little old lady 
 in front of me, whose head I could scarcely 
 see when she was sitting. It was so comical 
 to see her pop up like a Jack-in-the-box, every 
 little while, but the doctor's voice was so 
 impressive that I felt rebuked and very soon 
 ceased to think of my surroundings. The 
 rector impresses me as a man to be wholly 
 loved for his goodness and wholly admired 
 for his eloquence. 
 
 "Papa, dear, why do you not write a book ? 
 I fancied myself with you while reading your 
 last letter. Your descriptions are so charm- 
 ingly vivid that it seems almost wicked not 
 to allow the world to enjoy them. I am going 
 to whisper a secret. It is my pet ambition to 
 write a book. After I get through with my 
 studies I mean to go away somewhere and shut 
 myself up, and write a wonderful book about 
 the people I have met. I shall call it ' Stories 
 of Peculiar People.' It will be a strange book, 
 unlike any other, if I write it truthfully, as 
 I mean to. Oh, you need not smile, for I 
 certainly mean to do it. 
 
 "I must not forget to tell you that I visited
 
 AT THE BREWSTER&. 85 
 
 Thatcher (he is the Worth of Boston), on 
 Friday, and had a glimpse of Paris. You have 
 thought me too economical, but when I tell you 
 what I am to pay for one of Thatcher's crea- 
 tions, the loveliest of walking-costumes, you 
 will perhaps change your mind. Kitty says 
 one glance of his artistic eye, which takes in 
 your general style, costs fifty dollars but that 
 is a mere trifle. Such things as linings, facings, 
 silk, and twist, the magnificent Thatcher takes 
 no note of, but the bill for the completed 
 costume makes you think you have a double 
 vision. But his gowns are marvelous, as to fit 
 and style, and leave nothing to be desired. I 
 am to have an evening-dress of pale yellow, 
 for little dancing-parties such as Mrs. Brewster 
 often gives. Kitty is to have a pink one. And, 
 papa, dear, please send me quantities of the 
 palest amber you can find for my neck, arms, 
 and dear little ears, and I will kiss you a 
 thousand times. Your loving 
 
 "TEDDY." 
 
 " P. S. Kitty came in and forced me to 
 leave off before I had quite finished, and I 
 came back to say that we are going to be good.
 
 86 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 Oh ! very good, indeed, Kitty and I, better 
 even than Miss Edith Preble, who is always 
 good and proper. And, papa, I want to give 
 you just the tiniest bit of a hint. While you 
 are buying my amber, I want you to remember 
 that pink is very becoming to Kitty, and that, 
 as I told you, she is to have a pink gown, and I 
 am sure that a lovely set of pale pink coral 
 would be exactly what would please her most. 
 
 "TED."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 PRETTY, fair Mrs. Houlton sat in her sun- 
 shiny morning-room, industriously darning one 
 of her own well-worn stockings. By her side, 
 upon the floor, was a convenient basket, 
 trimmed with wine-colored velvet handsomely 
 embroidered. Upon the table near were the 
 most popular magazines, the latest novel, a few 
 books celebrated for their intellectual worth, 
 and a copy of Browning's poems, all of which, 
 if we except the first-mentioned books, entirely 
 above the little woman's comprehension. But, 
 as she had often said to her daughter, " One 
 must be in the fashion, my dear," and it was 
 beginning to be the fashion, even in Alliance, 
 to have literary tastes and aspirations. 
 
 Being the widow of the famous (in his little 
 town) Judge Houlton, she felt that considerable 
 homage was due her, consequently she carried 
 herself very proudly before her less fortunate 
 neighbors; but, unfortunately for her pride,
 
 88 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 she was left with a very small income, nobody 
 knew how small, for she had the "faculty," as 
 they say in New England, of making a little go 
 a great way. She was smiling softly to herself, 
 for she was thinking that in a few weeks her 
 clever daughter, whom she had not seen in two 
 years, would be with her, and would bring her 
 at least one new gown of which she was 
 sadly in need and the latest Paris fashions. 
 A letter to that effect had reached her that 
 morning, much to her joy, for she had not 
 expected her for some months. 
 
 Mrs. Houlton was carefully and youthfully 
 dressed, from the little square of crepe lisse 
 which did duty as a widow's cap, to the jet 
 buckles on her slippers ; and with her crimped 
 hair brought low on her white forehead, was still 
 young looking. She had been no companion 
 for her husband. She was but a pet and play- 
 thing in their early married life ; but she 
 disappointed him sorely, and after a time she 
 used to say to her children, " He cares for 
 nothing but his books ; we must not disturb 
 him," and very considerately left him alone ; 
 and when at last he died, she took what her
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE, 89 
 
 daughter called a sensible and philosophic view 
 of the matter. She knew that grief and tears 
 inevitably brought dimness to the eyes and 
 wrinkles to the forehead ; so, after six month's 
 retirement behind folds upon folds of crepe, 
 with her natural gayety a little subdued, and 
 her sombreness lightened by bands of jet, she 
 showed herself to the world, a beautiful spirit 
 of resignation. 
 
 There was one peculiarity about this mother 
 and daughter that I must speak of here. They 
 never allowed themselves to be surprised. 
 The doorbell, for instance, was hung so that 
 it could be heard throughout the house. She 
 had received long letters from her beloved 
 Julia (and her powers of invention were 
 marvelous), and yet no one came. She was 
 longing to tell some gossiping neighbor of 
 the social successes of her favorite daughter, 
 Annie, the elder, had married a poor store- 
 keeper against her mamma's judgment, and 
 so didn't signify, when she heard the wel- 
 come sound of the doorbell. 
 
 Without the slightest sign of disturbance 
 or flutter, Mrs. Houlton quietly dropped the
 
 QO THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 stocking she had been darning into the con- 
 venient basket, and pushed it with her foot 
 farther under the table, while from its dainty 
 receptacle on the table she took a delicate 
 piece of embroidery, which she carelessly 
 dropped in her lap. Then she reached for the 
 volume of Browning, and she was prepared for 
 anybody. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Houlton ! " safd her visitor, the 
 wife of one of her late husband's young friends, 
 as she fluttered in, " how charmingly cool and 
 comfortable you look ! I have been in a per- 
 fect fever all the morning ; and what with poor 
 servants and fretful children, I had almost made 
 up my mind that life was not worth living, 
 when I thought of you. I knew I should find 
 you just as you are, with your book and 
 embroidery. How you ever find time for so 
 much reading and fancy-work I cannot under- 
 stand. And everything seems to run so 
 smoothly in your house, too. Your servants 
 are so perfectly trained, and you never seem 
 to be in a flutter. Do tell me how it is done. 
 I am in despair." 
 
 Mrs. Houlton had, in anticipation of her
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 91 
 
 daughter's return, engaged old Hannah's niece, 
 so she could truthfully say "my servants," 
 which she did with the smile of a superior. 
 
 " I require my servants to do their duty. 
 You see, my dear, I don't expect anything else, 
 and they know it. The only way to get along 
 comfortably is to let your servants understand, 
 to begin with, that you are mistress of your 
 own house." 
 
 The truth is, Mrs. Houlton had had the same 
 old servant for years, who ruled the household 
 with a rod of iron. Her mistress would not 
 have dared to say her soul was her own even, 
 much less her kitchen. She was one of those 
 rare old creatures who, dreading change, accept 
 low wages for a home, and take a personal 
 interest in the family they serve. She was 
 fond of Mrs. Houlton, in her peculiar way, and 
 proud of Miss Julia, as she still called her ; but 
 when she said, after a timid suggestion from 
 her mistress, "La! Mrs. Houlton, you don't 
 want that," it amounted to a command. 
 
 " I know you are right," answered her guest, 
 "but I give up to my servants, and I cannot 
 help it. They rule me instead of my ruling 
 them."
 
 92 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " You must not let them, my dear ; you must 
 assert yourself," said Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 " Ah ! it is easy for you to do it, but not 
 for me," said poor Mrs. Adams, with a sigh. 
 Then, spying the basket under the table, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! what lovely embroidery ! Did you 
 do it ? " 
 
 "Do you like it?" said Mrs. Houlton, care- 
 lessly; "it is rather pretty, I think." She 
 did not explain that it was a foreign production, 
 sent by her daughter. It was not necessary. 
 But she went on to say: 
 
 " I am very fond of embroidery. It is a 
 recreation. I do a little every day, because I 
 enjoy it ; and if I did not try to improve my 
 mind a little every day, also, I should consider 
 the day misspent," looking affectionately at the 
 copy of Browning in her hand. 
 
 "And you read Browning, too?" said little 
 Mrs. Adams. "I never think of touching his 
 poems; they are wholly incomprehensible." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked Mrs. Houlton, 
 with a pitying smile. " I am afraid you do not 
 like real poetry, my dear."
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 93 
 
 " I don't like anything I don't understand," 
 said Mrs. Adams, candidly. " But, dear Mrs. 
 Houlton, you are expecting your charming 
 daughter soon, I hear. How happy you must 
 be, and proud, too ! Everybody is on the tiptoe 
 of expectation. She is such a stylish creature, 
 she will be more admired than ever. Such an 
 acquisition as she will be ! I do hope she 
 comes to stay ! " 
 
 "I am her mother," said Mrs. Houlton, with 
 a satisfied smile, " and may be excused for 
 taking pleasure in hearing her praises. Julia 
 has pleasing manners and is generally a success 
 wherever she goes. She was always a favorite 
 among the girls, and I hear from others : she 
 herself is very reticent : that she is very much 
 admired abroad." Then followed an interesting 
 account of dear Julia's social successes, and 
 a list of her admirers. 
 
 "We must try and make it pleasant for her," 
 said Mrs. Houlton, artfully, as her visitor rose 
 to go, "for this little place must seem very dull 
 to her under any circumstances." 
 
 And Mrs. Adams went home impressed 
 with the idea that she and her friends must
 
 94 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 exert themselves to the utmost to " make it 
 pleasant " for Julia Wyse, when she should do 
 her native place the honor of visiting it again. 
 
 The next day toward evening, as Mrs. Houl- 
 ton was caressing the volume of Browning, 
 which she never read, there was a bustle out- 
 side, a hasty ring mingled with a barking of 
 dogs, and a bewildering mixture of French and 
 English. Mrs. Houlton glanced hastily out of 
 the window. There stood a smart French 
 maid with two dogs, one in her arms, and 
 the other dragging by a ribbon, which she 
 was alternately scolding and petting. In 
 another moment she was clasping her beloved 
 Julia in her arms. It was such a great sur- 
 prise, for she had not expected her for three 
 weeks at least, that she almost fainted from 
 excitement. 
 
 "You dear, blessed, little mamma," ex- 
 claimed her daughter, " how white you are ! 
 So you are really glad to see me ? Ninette," 
 turning to her maid, " bring a little wine." 
 
 Ninette opened a small traveling-bag and 
 produced the wine, which quite revived Madam 
 Houlton.
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 95 
 
 "Now, mamma," said the affectionate 
 daughter, "if you will allow me to go to my 
 room for a while, I see the luggage has fol- 
 lowed us closely, I shall give you as much of 
 my society as you will wish, after I have rested 
 a little." 
 
 " Poor dear ! " said Mrs. Houlton, "you must 
 be dreadfully fatigued, although I must say I 
 never saw you looking better." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," said Mrs. Wyse, " you 
 know that I never allow myself to get very 
 tired. We had a quick passage, and I was not 
 seasick ; besides I stayed a week in New York. 
 I like to present myself to my friends in the 
 best possible light." 
 
 "For my part," answered her partial mamma, 
 "I can say that you are wonderfully improved, 
 my dear, and I am glad you rested on the way, 
 although if I had known you were so near I 
 should hardly have remained contented here." 
 
 "All of which shows my wisdom in not 
 letting you know," said her daughter as she 
 left the room. 
 
 For the next few days Mrs. Wyse's tongue 
 was busy with that inexhaustible subject, her-
 
 g6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 self, before a delighted audience of one, her 
 mamma. Occasionally her commonplace sister, 
 Mrs. Fielding, would steal away from her 
 numerous family cares to listen with un- 
 bounded admiration, for an hour, to the vivid 
 pictures of her much-admired sister's foreign 
 life. As she represented it, her traveling was 
 a triumphal march, and she received a con- 
 stant ovation wherever she stopped. " I don't 
 envy you," said poor Annie Fielding ; " I am 
 glad to have you enjoy so much, but I do some- 
 times wish that I could get away for a little 
 rest and recreation." 
 
 " Oh ! Annie," said Mrs. Wyse, reproach- 
 fully, " how can you want to leave those dear 
 little children ? If I had a little girl like your 
 Julia," putting her handkerchief to her eyes, 
 " I should be perfectly happy ; I should never 
 want to leave her." 
 
 " I suppose I am wicked," said poor, dragged- 
 out Annie, " but it is only when I get very 
 tired that I feel so." 
 
 "Poor dear," said Mrs. Wyse, with a sudden 
 feeling of pity at Annie's forlorn appearance, 
 "you do look worn out, but, for mercy's sake!
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 97 
 
 don't get low-spirited. It would make me ill at 
 once to see you so. Come upstairs and see 
 what I have for that dear, little rosebud, my 
 namesake." 
 
 And Annie was cheered by numerous little 
 presents for herself and children, and she went 
 home, saying to herself : " What a tender heart 
 Julia has ! She cannot bear to even hear of 
 other peoples' woes, and she is so generous, 
 too. To be sure, she is rich, but the rich 
 people are not always generous, like Julia." 
 
 "How easy it is to make her happy," said 
 Mrs. Wyse to her mother as she went out. 
 "And we ought to do something for her, for 
 she does have a hard time. I should die in a 
 week if I had to live as she does, with those 
 dreadful children always clamoring for some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you could n't bear it, of 
 course," said her mother ; " but she is differ- 
 ently constituted. She is quite satisfied, as a 
 general thing, and if she is not, it is her own 
 fault. She chose to marry a poor man against 
 my judgment, as you well know, and she must 
 suffer the consequences. I did not expect her
 
 98 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to make a brilliant match, but there was Mr. 
 Tremaine" 
 
 " Oh, mamma," said Julia, " I don't blame 
 her for refusing him. He was so old and so 
 intensely disagreeable " 
 
 "But he is as rich as a Jew," said her 
 mother. 
 
 "And a horrid old screw, as Annie said at 
 the time, I remember," said Mrs. Wyse. 
 
 "To add another rhyme, it is very, very 
 true," said Mrs. Houlton, laughing; "but we 
 will change the subject, if you please : it is 
 getting disagreeable." 
 
 "Very well," said her daughter, " I am more 
 than willing." 
 
 They perfectly understood one another, this 
 clever daughter of a not over-scrupulous 
 mother. But the daughter was, by far, the 
 more accomplished woman of the world, and 
 Mrs. Houlton, recognizing this fact, yielded 
 both admiration and will. 
 
 "I am dying to know why you came home 
 earlier than you intended," said Mrs. Houlton, 
 a day or two after this; "but knowing that 
 you clo not like to be questioned, I have waited 
 for you to tell me."
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 99 
 
 "My dear mamma," answered her daughter, 
 "you taught me early to find out other 
 peoples' business, but to guard jealously my 
 own, and I have forgotten neither precept nor 
 example. I remember, when I was very young, 
 I used to listen with wonder and amazement to 
 your skilful manner of asking questions, and 
 your guarded way of answering them. I am 
 an apt pupil of a very clever teacher." 
 
 "But I am your mother, Julia," said Mrs. 
 Houlton, reproachfully, "and you should have 
 no secrets from me. I am sure I have always 
 been devoted to your interests." 
 
 "Very true, mamma," answered Mrs. Wyse, 
 "and when my plans are fully matured you 
 shall know them, for I shall want your assist- 
 ance. Until then you must be patient. I can 
 only tell you now that I go to Boston in two 
 weeks for a short visit to Nana Cleveland, and 
 before I come back I shall call upon that dear 
 old humbug, Madam Leonard." 
 
 " But, Julia, you are surely not going to leave 
 me again so soon!" cried her mother; "and I 
 thought you hated Miss Cleveland." 
 
 " Softly, dear mamma," said Mrs. Wyse,
 
 1 00 THE WID O W WTSE, 
 
 laughing ; " I love everybody, even Nana Cleve- 
 land, when she can be useful to me. You 
 spoke of a reception. I would suggest that you 
 fix upon next Tuesday evening. It will remind 
 people of their duty to me in this respect. I 
 do not expect to be gone long, and I should die 
 of ennui in this poky old place, without some 
 excitement." 
 
 " Frivolous, as you used to be," said Mrs. 
 Houlton, "but undoubtedly clever." 
 
 "I quite agree with you, although some 
 people have been uncomplimentary enough 
 to call it shrewdness, and you might also say 
 successful. They say that ' nothing succeeds 
 like success,' and I have made it a point never 
 to fail. It will please you, I am sure, to know 
 that I am indebted to you for an expression 
 that I have found wonderfully taking. It is 
 this : ' How perfectly lovely ! ' I remember dis- 
 tinctly that you said, as I was leaving for my 
 first little party, now Julia be sure you remem- 
 ber to say, when you come away, ' I have had 
 ^perfectly lovely time.' It will be very impolite 
 if you do not, and if they show you anything 
 to please you, say, ' Oh ! how perfectly lovely!
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. IOI 
 
 I have used that expression, as Annie's little 
 Julia would say, four hundred million times. It 
 never fails to please. Oh ! yes, flattery costs 
 nothing and is pleasing to everybody." 
 
 " And yet I have heard people say that they 
 were proof against it," said Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 "And they are the very people that are 
 most susceptible of it," answered her daughter. 
 "There is not a man in the world," she went 
 on, with a little more than her usual energy, 
 "who has not some weak point to assail, that 
 flattery cannot reach, and I believe that intel- 
 lectual men are weakest of all in this respect. 
 They generally marry simpletons who are 
 willing to offer perpetual adoration. Their 
 vanity is satisfied with nothing else. But to 
 go back to your first remark, I am going to 
 give you a hint, a bare hint," she repeated, 
 seeing that her mother had started up eagerly. 
 " I made the acquaintance of a young man in 
 Germany, who interested me a good deal, and 
 whom, I flatter myself, I interested still more. 
 He intends leaving in the spring for America 
 with his friend, a young American, who went 
 to Germany to finish his studies. A cousin, by
 
 102 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 the way, of Miss Cleveland, of Boston. I had 
 planned to leave about that time, as you know. 
 I preferred to be followed, rather than follow. 
 That is all." 
 
 "But, Julia" began Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 " Now, mamma," said her daughter, coldly, " I 
 said you were to have a hint, merely. You 
 positively must not ask me any questions. I 
 should not have spoken of the matter at all, 
 only I want this young man to be cordially 
 received, should he come here." 
 
 "You are the most provoking person living," 
 said poor Mrs. Houlton, who was in an agony 
 of curiosity. 
 
 "I know it, mamma," answered Mrs. Wyse, 
 "and I sympathize with you heartily, but," 
 reaching for the bell-rope, " I cannot help 
 you." 
 
 "Madame?" said the soft voice of Ninette, 
 but soft as it was, it startled Mrs. Houlton, 
 for she had not heard the still softer step of 
 her daughter's invaluable French maid. 
 
 "Fetch Bijou and Pet," said her mistress. 
 "I have not seen them to-day." 
 
 " Yes, madame," said Ninette, disappearing.
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 103 
 
 " She must have been near the door, to have 
 answered so soon," said Mrs. Houlton, suspi- 
 ciously. 
 
 "Oh, I dare say she has been listening," said 
 Mrs. Wyse, carelessly. " It is a way these 
 maids have." 
 
 " You should not permit it," said Mrs Houl- 
 ton. " It is very foolish of you." 
 
 Mrs. Wyse shrugged her pretty shoulders, 
 but did not answer. 
 
 " See, mamma ! " she said, a moment later, 
 as she fondled the pretty creatures, which 
 seemed overjoyed to see her. "Kiss me, 
 Bijou. Shake hands, Pet. Ninette, you must 
 show off their accomplishments to mamma. 
 They know a good deal more than a good 
 many human beings." 
 
 They went through a good many clever 
 tricks, greatly to the amusement of the two 
 ladies. 
 
 "Now you may take them out for a little 
 exercise, Ninette," said her mistress; "but 
 first come to me, you little troublesome com- 
 forts, and say good-by." 
 
 They gave two soft, quick barks, in answer, 
 as they rushed into her arms.
 
 104 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 "Hear them, mamma," she said. "They 
 understand me ; and do you see how they love 
 me ? I think I love them as well as Annie 
 does her little Julia." 
 
 "Ah! how can they help loafing what is so 
 loafly.? les pauvres innocents!" said Ninette, 
 in low, ecstatic tones. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse shook her finger playfully at her 
 maid, saying, 
 
 "Flatterer!" 
 
 " Ah ! non, madame " 
 
 "You see," said Mrs. Wyse, interrupting her 
 and turning to her mother, " they all spoil me, 
 even Ninette." 
 
 "I do really think, Julia," said Mrs. Houlton, 
 indignantly, as that person went out, " that you 
 allow Ninette to be too familiar. I have 
 noticed it a good deal, and I believe that you 
 are making a mistake." 
 
 " Poor Ninette ! " answered her daughter : 
 " I took her from slavery and she does not 
 forget it. She is perfectly devoted to me 
 such a faithful creature ! Why, I could not 
 get along a day without her! I think you 
 hardly know how much I am indebted to her
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 105 
 
 for what you are pleased to call ' my improved 
 personal appearance.' Of course she knows a 
 good many of my secrets ; but she is very wise, 
 is my little Ninette. I make it worth her 
 while to be. Oh, yes ! never fear. Ninette 
 is all right. She knows what is for her 
 interest." 
 
 "What a convenience you make of those 
 dogs, Julia," said Mrs. Houlton, with a little 
 warmth, as her mind went back to the inter- 
 rupted subject. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said her daughter, with the 
 utmost candor ; " I send for them when I want 
 to change a subject, as you notice. I really 
 don't know what I shduld do without them. 
 They amuse me, and they never ask disagree- 
 able questions."
 
 CHAPTER VII. / 
 
 GAYETIES. 
 
 MRS. HOULTON'S pleasant rooms were crowd- 
 ed with enthusiastic admirers on the evening 
 of the reception. The Widow Wyse wore a 
 gown which every one pronounced the perfec- 
 tion of good taste, and which set off her lovely 
 complexion as nothing else could. It was of a 
 black, gauzy material, through which her per- 
 fectly formed arms were seen to the best 
 advantage. The overskirt was looped with 
 clusters of purplish-black pansies, their yellow 
 hearts gleaming like the coils of her tawny 
 hair. It was evident that the Widow Wyse 
 had made up her 'mind to be irresistible this 
 evening. The fervor with which she said to 
 everybody, " I am so glad to get back to the 
 dear old place and the dear old friends," 
 charmed one and all. She talked with the new 
 rector as though her happiness depended upon 
 the welfare of the Church. He was delighted 
 with her quick appreciation, her ready acqui-
 
 GATETIES. 
 
 107 
 
 escence in his views, her humble deference /to 
 his opinions, her evident interest in the poor of 
 the parish ; and her conquest was complete 
 when, after a few words of delicate flattery, she 
 offered to start a bazar for the benefit of "The 
 Church Poor Fund " immediately after her 
 return from Boston ; and a few minutes later 
 he startled one of the older parishioners whom 
 he had heard speaking of her as a gay woman 
 of fashion, by saying, 
 
 " She may be called so, but a less worldly 
 minded woman I have seldom met." 
 
 He had known her just half an hour. In- 
 deed, they all seemed under a spell. She 
 displayed the most eager interest in the most 
 trifling amusements of the younger portion of 
 society, and they flattered themselves that it 
 was their pleasure that she was seeking to 
 promote, as she told them her plans and 
 projects. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Wyse ! " said one enthusiastic 
 young lady, "somebody says that you are 
 going to leave us soon ; but you must not. 
 Indeed, we will not let you go. We have so 
 counted on your coming back ! It has been
 
 IO8 THE WIDOW WTSE, 
 
 as dull as the catacombs, so far this winter. 
 We might as well be mummies, and done 
 with it." 
 
 " You dear little rosebud ! " said Mrs. Wyse, 
 laughing softly. "Who says such a dreadful 
 thing ? Do you think I could stay away long, 
 and leave you to wither in this dull place, 
 especially after such an appeal ? Indeed, I am 
 only tearing myself _ away for a week or two. I 
 shall be only too glad to come back and help 
 you to be merry, for I am"- 
 
 And she turned away to speak to a passing 
 friend. The Widow Wyse had a way of turn- 
 ing at a half-finished sentence. She often 
 found it convenient. 
 
 "Just the same as ever!" exclaimed the 
 enthusiastic young lady. " So delightfully 
 impulsive ! She always had a habit of break- 
 ing off in this way." 
 
 "Rather an annoying habit, I should say," 
 spoke out a lady who was getting to be called 
 an old maid by the very young ladies in 
 society. 
 
 " I think she is perfectly lovely," said the 
 first young lady. " She does n't look a day 
 older than she did when she went away.
 
 'A 
 
 GATETIES. 109 
 
 What a lovely complexion she has, and what a 
 charming dimple in her left cheek ! " 
 
 " Yes," answered Miss Brown, the old young 
 lady. " I noticed that dimple, too. It is a 
 new one. She did n't have it when she went 
 away." 
 
 " What can you mean ?" said the others, in a 
 breath. 
 
 "Why," said Miss Brown, "don't you know 
 that they make dimples in Paris ? You can 
 have them as deep as you like, only you have 
 to submit to a surgical operation to accomplish 
 it. She has another on her shoulder. I sup- 
 pose that was an experiment." 
 
 " But how do you know anything about it ? " 
 queried one of the young ladies. 
 
 " Her maid told Mrs. Jaques, the seamstress, 
 who was assisting her on Mrs. Houlton's dress, 
 last week. You know she is a great gossip." 
 
 "Yes, she is a great gossip, and I don't 
 believe a word she says," said Mrs. Wyse's 
 admirer, with warmth. All the same, the 
 young ladies, as they turned away, puckered 
 their young foreheads in trying to remember 
 whether Mrs. Wyse had dimples when she 
 went abroad,
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 " DEAR, dear, dear me ! what a flutter Miss 
 Highgate is in this morning, to be sure," said 
 Kitty one morning just before Christmas, "and 
 madam, too, is scarcely less excited, and all 
 because of a note from the Widow Wyse." 
 
 "And what of the Widow Wyse?" said 
 Ethel. "Has she come back to her native 
 land ? " 
 
 " Not only has she come back," answered 
 Kitty, "but she is to be here to-day, and our 
 history is to be given up in consequence." 
 
 "Oh, bless the Widow Wyse!" said Ethel, 
 throwing down her book. " I won't study 
 another word, as it would do no good. I 
 could n't possibly remember the dates and 
 things until to-morrow, to save my life. Bless 
 the Widow Wyse ! I say again. Bless anybody 
 who saves me history. But tell me more about 
 this engaging person. She is wealthy, of 
 course, or Lizzie Highgate would n't worship 
 her."
 
 AT MADAM LEONARD'S. Ill 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Kitty, " at least it is 
 supposed so. She married a man considerably 
 more than twice her age for his money, and, as 
 Madam Leonard says, ' She bears her loss very 
 sweetly.' " 
 
 " I hope crepe is becoming to her," said 
 Ethel, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, she does n't wear crepe," 
 said Kitty. " She says that owing to her deli- 
 cate organization her physicians have forbidden 
 it. Lustreless black silks and delicate gauzes 
 are becoming to everybody, and mauve ribbons 
 would especially suit the Widow Wyse's fair 
 complexion. She is really pretty, and you must 
 be prepared for a decidedly dashing widow." 
 
 " She will find me very amiable, on account 
 of the lesson she has spared me," said Ethel, as 
 they went to a recitation. 
 
 In the middle of the afternoon as Kitty was 
 standing by the window, she suddenly exclaimed : 
 " Come, Ethel, quickly, here she is." 
 
 " How young she looks," said Ethel. " I 
 expected to see an older person." 
 
 "Yes," admitted Kitty, "she does look 
 young from here, younger than she did when
 
 112 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 she left school, but a brush of powder and 
 a soupqon of rouge will accomplish wonders in 
 a woman's face sometimes, if she is skilful." 
 
 "You dreadful girl," exclaimed Ethel, "you 
 talk like a ' world-worn cynic,' and an old 
 bachelor besides. I am ashamed of you. What 
 would your dear, charitable mother say to you ? 
 Here am I, ready to embrace her." 
 
 "I don't hate history as you do," said Kitty, 
 dryly. 
 
 " But you do hate the Widow Wyse," 
 answered Ethel ; " anybody can see that." 
 
 "No," said Kitty, "I don't think I do, but I 
 hate to have people make such a fuss over any- 
 body." 
 
 " Especially the Widow Wyse," said Ethel. 
 
 "Especially the Widow Wyse," admitted 
 Kitty. . 
 
 An hour later they were summoned to the 
 drawing-room. Mrs. Wyse, moving swiftly 
 toward Kitty, taking both hands and kissing 
 her impulsively on both cheeks, said : 
 
 " You dear, little Kitten, I am so glad to see 
 you, and to see you here. It seems as though 
 I had hardly been away. I feel like a school- 
 girl again instead of a"
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. 1 1 3 
 
 Here she broke off, dropped her eyes with 
 a sigh of deep emotion, made an effective pause, 
 winked fast two or three times, then noticing 
 Ethel, as if for the first time, she moved toward 
 her, offering her hand, with a sweet smile: 
 
 "And this, I know, is Miss Townsend. I 
 shall not need a formal introduction, I am sure, 
 when I tell you that I saw your dear papa but 
 a few days before I left Dresden." 
 
 " Oh, have you really seen papa recently ? " 
 exclaimed Ethel, eagerly. " How was he ? He 
 writes me often, but I should like to know if 
 he was looking well and happy when you saw 
 him ? " 
 
 " He was looking very well. Very proud 
 when speaking of you, my dear, and very 
 handsome. Indeed, they call him ' the hand- 
 some American,' in Dresden. I met him first 
 in Paris, and I thought him a little sad, but he 
 was much improved when I saw him last, but 
 he misses you sorely yet, and is looking forward 
 impatiently to the time when he may expect 
 you to join him." 
 
 Then turning to Madam Leonard, she said : 
 " How lovely it is here, and how kind of you
 
 114 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to permit me to see these dear girls. I could 
 almost beg of you to take me again as a pupil." 
 
 " Indeed, I wish I might," said Madam Leon- 
 ard, fervently. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Wyse, rising, " I am 
 sorry to say I must go." 
 
 " Oh, do not go yet, my dear," said Madam 
 Leonard, earnestly; "you know how glad we 
 should be to keep you with us to-night." 
 
 " Don't tempt me, dear madam," said the 
 fair widow. "I must not stay. I promised Nana 
 faithfully that I would be back to-night. It is 
 so hard to refuse such an invitation, but I shall 
 see you again soon." 
 
 "How is Nana?" asked Madam Leonard, 
 indifferently. 
 
 " Oh, the same as ever," said Mrs. Wyse, with 
 a soft laugh. " She is so bright and keen that 
 I am positively afraid of her. Those flashing 
 retorts are always on the end of her tongue. 
 I told her this morning that I was constantly 
 seeing sparks and trying to dodge them." 
 
 "These sarcastic speeches do Miss Cleveland 
 no credit," said Madam Leonard, severely. 
 
 " But she is so uncommonly bright," said
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. I I 5 
 
 Mrs. Wyse. " I often wish I had the gift of 
 making such amazingly witty speeches." 
 
 " Don't wish it, my dear," answered madam. 
 " I am sure no one would wish to be so dis- 
 liked," remembering her former pupil's many 
 pert remarks. 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed!" exclaimed the charming 
 Widow Wyse. " I want everybody to love me. 
 I think it would break my heart to know that 
 anybody really disliked me." 
 
 "Well," said Kitty, with a rising inflection, 
 when the girls were again by themselves. 
 
 " Well," answered Ethel, with a provoking, 
 falling inflection. 
 
 "Don't be stupid," said Kitty, impatiently. 
 "What do you think of the Widow Wyse?" 
 
 " If I must give an opinion on a five minutes' 
 acquaintance," said Ethel, slowly, " I should 
 say that she seems amiable, and is certainly 
 a pretty, graceful young woman." 
 
 " She does seem so," said Kitty, reluctantly. 
 " She is certainly changed since I saw her last. 
 She doesn't look quite the same. She could 
 hardly help improving with the advantages she 
 has had ; but there is something about her face 
 that puzzles me. I can't make out what it is."
 
 Il6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " She has a youthful face," answered Ethel, 
 " in spite of your objectionable powder, but I 
 should think some of it would get lodged in 
 that deep dimple sometimes." 
 . "That's it," exclaimed Kitty, "it is that 
 dimple that has changed her." 
 
 " But she must have had that always," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 " She certainly did not have it when she 
 went away," persisted Kitty. 
 
 " Oh ! you dear, absurd little Kitten ! " said 
 Ethel, laughing; "you are so prejudiced against 
 the Widow Wyse that you won't allow her that 
 poor little dimple. For shame ! " 
 
 "I never was so puzzled in my life," said 
 Kitty, dismissing the subject. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse had told her mother that there 
 was one man in Boston that she particularly 
 desired to meet again, and she was fortunate in 
 the fulfilment of this desire. Mr. Apthorpe had 
 overtaken her one morning as she was walking 
 with Nana across the Common. He accosted 
 the latter with 
 
 " Well, Miss Nana, are you taking a walk to 
 sharpen your wits this frosty morning ? "
 
 A T MADAM LEONARD'S. I I 7 
 
 " Yes," she answered, quickly, "and I see that 
 you are doing the same. I hope we shall meet 
 later." 
 
 He laughed at her quick answer, as though 
 amused. Then she said to her companion, in. 
 the same mocking tone : "Julia, this is my dear 
 friend Mr. Apthorpe, who loves me, even though 
 he often chastises me. Mrs. Wyse Mr. 
 Apthorpe." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Apthorpe," said the fair widow, in a 
 soft, low voice which contrasted strangely with 
 Nana's, " I did hope to see recognition in your 
 eyes," as she gave him her hand. 
 
 " I have met you before. I was sure of it 
 before you spoke, for I seldom forget faces. 
 You must pardon me for forgetting your name." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " in Paris ; but I was 
 foolish to expect you to remember me, as we 
 met but once, and only for a short time. Of 
 course I could not forget you ; besides, I have 
 been reminded of you so many times by an old 
 friend of yours, Dr. Townsend, of Mobile." 
 
 " Ah, Dr. Townsend," said Mr. Apthorpe, 
 interested at once. " So you know him ? " 
 And forthwith began to talk of him in a very
 
 Il8 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 animated, interesting way as they walked on, 
 until Nana, after trying in vain to get her com- 
 panion's attention, said : 
 
 " I positively must interrupt you, for we have 
 an important engagement this morning, and 
 you have, by your enchantment, like the Pied 
 Piper of Hamelin, drawn us after you, entirely 
 out of our way." 
 
 " I was so glad to meet him again," said Mrs. 
 Wyse, after they had left him almost at his very 
 door. " Is he not charming ? " 
 
 "Very charming, when he chooses to be, 
 which is not always, as I have the misfortune 
 to know," answered Nana. 
 
 "How do you dare to answer him as you do 
 sometimes?" asked Mrs. Wyse. 
 
 "Oh, I always dare to say anything I choose," 
 said the irrepressible Nana. " But if you could 
 hear him talk to me sometimes ; nothing that 
 I could say would surprise you. I assure you, 
 his language is often more forcible than polite."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 COUNTRY GAYETIES. 
 
 MRS. WvsE.went back to her mamma, after 
 having exacted a promise from Nana to visit 
 her during the month of May, quite well satis- 
 fied with her visit. She had accomplished all 
 that she had planned for, and she was in a 
 most amiable frame of mind. She was ready 
 to do her part in the social world of Alliance. 
 She was as good as her word, as far as gayeties 
 were concerned, for she could not live without 
 excitement. Society was an absolute necessity 
 for her. Invitations poured in from all quar- 
 ters. Balls, theatricals, and other entertain- 
 ments, followed in quick succession. All this 
 distracting flurry had an exhilarating effect 
 upon her spirits. The young girls went wild 
 over her ; but after a while their mothers 
 began to shake their heads, for her spirits 
 sometimes ran away with her. There was a 
 spice of Bohemianism in her gayety, noticeable 
 as she grew more careless of being observed,
 
 120 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 that scarcely kept her to the conventionalities 
 of life; but she had such an appearance of 
 cheerful good-nature that it was easy to forgive 
 her sometimes too gay spirits. She had, also, 
 the rare gift of making people believe that 
 they were fully appreciated the inestimable 
 gift of flattery. Intellectual men listened to 
 her gay conversation with smiling encourage- 
 ment ; they found it an enjoyable relaxation. 
 Her style of narration was very dramatic and 
 vivid, and they did not stop to inquire whether 
 there was any solid basis, or, in fact, any foun- 
 dation at all, for her prettily told stories ; and 
 if any Miss Brown gave a doubtful shrug, or 
 uttered a word of disbelief, she found an apol- 
 ogist before her. She was the life of the 
 company she happened to be in, and everybody 
 voted her charming a little given to embel- 
 lishment, perhaps ; but that was owing to her 
 enthusiastic nature. She was an incessant 
 talker, and had read a good deal -very super- 
 ficially, it is true ; but as long as she was 
 bright and amusing, people were satisfied. 
 She took a wonderful interest in the individ- 
 ual she happened to be talking with at the
 
 C O UNTR T GA TE TIES. \ 2 I 
 
 moment, and she succeeded in making that 
 person believe that he or she was the one 
 being in the world in whose society she took 
 the greatest delight excepting, perhaps, Miss 
 Brown, who could not believe that one pair of 
 arms could take in the whole world. But Miss 
 Brown was only Miss Brown, and nobody paid 
 any attention to her. But it was well for the 
 Widow Wyse that she had a mother who knew 
 her weakness in the way of making promises 
 only to break them. 
 
 "When are you going to arrange for the 
 bazar in aid of the 'Poor Fund,' Julia?" asked 
 Mrs. Houlton, as her daughter made a late 
 appearance at the breakfast-table one morning. 
 "It will not do to disappoint the rector." 
 
 " Good gracious, mamma ! I had forgotten 
 his very existence," said Mrs. Wyse. " I be- 
 lieve I did promise to do something, and of 
 course I must. I wish the rector, the church, 
 and the poor, were in Guinea." 
 
 " You should n't be so reckless in your 
 promises," said her mother, laughing at her 
 ludicrous look of disgust. " I do really wish 
 you would be more careful, Julia. I never was
 
 122 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 more embarrassed in my life than I was last 
 week when young Eaton came, by your invita- 
 tion, to dinner. You told me nothing about it, 
 and, when he spoke of you, I said you were 
 out, I did not know where. Of course I made 
 the best of it when he told me you expected 
 him to dine with you, and said that you would 
 doubtless explain your absence." 
 
 "Which I did, to his entire satisfaction, the 
 next day. I said I was called away hastily to 
 see a person who was ill, and for the time 
 forgot even him. The last part of my state- 
 ment was perfectly true," said Mrs. Wyse, 
 laughing. " Of course he forgave me, and 
 gave me credit for my quick sympathies, 
 besides." 
 
 Her mother smiled, and said, finally : 
 
 " I really think, my dear, that it would do 
 you no harm to take an interest in the church, 
 now. You have been very gay, and people will 
 think you frivolous if you go on, which would 
 never do, you know." 
 
 "You are right, as usual, mamma," answered 
 her daughter. " Fortunately it is almost Lent, 
 so I should have to be sedate soon, anyway.
 
 COUNTR r GA TETIES. 1 23 
 
 We can do a good deal in six weeks, and we 
 will have a grand fair at Easter. I shall man- 
 age the whole thing, and do myself credit. Mr. 
 Aden will be delighted. Just fancy what a 
 saint he will think me," and she laughed softly 
 at the thought. " I shall not tire myself with 
 work, I assure you. You must help me; and I 
 will interest the old tabbies, so that they will 
 do something besides talk ; and the girls will 
 do anything I ask of them." 
 
 It was a new excitement, and she rushed 
 into it with her whole heart. 
 
 " I shall ask Charlotte Brown to luncheon 
 to-morrow, to talk the matter over and see 
 what she will do ; and I want you to be 
 more than civil to her," she went on, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " But why do you ask Charlotte Brown ? 
 There are a good many girls more agreeable 
 than she," said Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " exclaimed the politic Julia, 
 " I doj-eally sometimes think you a trifle dull. 
 Don't you know that Miss Brown is one of 
 the substantiate of this little town one who is 
 to be thoroughly depended upon, who dotes on
 
 124 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 the rector and Mrs. Aden a pillar of the 
 church, so to speak ? She has been rather 
 snubbed by the young ladies lately, I should 
 say, and she must be coaxed. I shall make 
 her adore me before the affair is over." 
 
 And Mrs. Wyse ordered her carriage. She 
 met Miss Brown coming out of her own 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, Lottie!" she said, "I am so glad 
 that I did n't quite miss you. No, dear, I 
 cannot come in this morning ; but I want to 
 see you particularly, on church matters. We 
 must not always be gay, you know, and I 
 think it is high time that I, at least, should be 
 doing something useful ; but I am inexperi- 
 enced, and I want your help and advice. I 
 dare say, you are going on some errand of 
 mercy now. You are so good always, even 
 when you are the gayest, that you make me 
 ashamed." And she wiped away an imaginary 
 tear. " Lottie, dear, cannot you come and dis- 
 cuss the matter with me over a* cup of coffee 
 to-morrow, at one ? Indeed, you must, for I 
 cannot do anything without you. Of course 
 the young girls will do a good deal after every-
 
 COUNTRY GATETIES. 125 
 
 thing is planned ; but young ladies who are 
 not giddy must direct them. We have helped 
 them to enjoy a good deal during the winter, 
 and now we must make them work." 
 
 Ah, Widow Wyse ! you are indeed a clever 
 schemer. You have taken at least ten years 
 from Miss Brown. It is very evident that you 
 do not think her old. It is something, too, to 
 hear the popular Widow Wyse say, " We will 
 do so and so." She has not been called by her 
 pet name for years. Even her mother calls 
 her Charlotte now, and she is Miss Brown to 
 everybody else. You know very well that 
 " Lottie, dear," will do for you what plain Miss 
 Brown would not. 
 
 Of course the fair was a success. The 
 Widow Wyse and Miss Brown presided over 
 the flower temple, and nobody passed by with- 
 out a call and a purchase. They succeeded in 
 astonishing everybody with the amount of 
 money theyUook. The fair widow would not 
 do anything without her dear Lottie. She 
 was so attentive to her that 'she compelled 
 attention from others ; for all of which Miss 
 Brown was grateful. The skilful Ninette had
 
 126 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 dressed her hair for the occasion, and she did 
 indeed look and feel younger and fairer than 
 she had done for years. Her cheeks flushed 
 with pleasure as Mrs. Wyse whispered, with 
 an admiring look : 
 
 " You are lovely to-night, dear. Always do 
 your hair just as it is now. It is very 
 becoming." 
 
 And she declared to her mother, when she 
 returned home that night, that she had mis- 
 judged Mrs. Wyse ; she had thought her vain 
 and frivolous, but she was an earnest, whole- 
 souled woman. 
 
 And this "earnest, whole-souled woman" 
 got all the credit. She had given some hand- 
 some embroideries and a few Swiss carvings 
 for the fancy-table, and had encouraged Char- 
 lotte Brown to work and organize and engineer 
 the whole thing, while she fluttered from one 
 to another, and praised, flattered, or cajoled, 
 as seemed necessary. 
 
 Her mother said, the next morning : 
 
 " That was a very clever idea of yours, my 
 dear, of interesting Miss Brown. She worked 
 hard, and was a most excellent foil for you."
 
 COUNTRT GATE TIES. 12J 
 
 Mrs. Wyse only smiled. 
 
 The rector was profoundly grateful. Indeed 
 he told her that he could hardly express his 
 thanks that she, who was almost a stranger, 
 should take such an interest in the parish. 
 
 " Oh, dear Mr. Aden ! don't call me a 
 stranger," she said, the ready tears springing 
 to her eyes. " I have been feeling that I was 
 at home. I have been so busy and so happy 
 that I had almost forgotten the few years "- 
 
 The dismayed rector impulsively seized her 
 hand, and said, rather incoherently : 
 
 " I am so glad I mean that you are 
 here. You have been so kind and thoughtful, 
 and and I shall bring Mrs. Aden to see 
 you very soon." 
 
 While the widow thought : " How charming 
 this would be, were there no Mrs. Aden ! 
 It is a great mistake for a young, interesting 
 clergyman to marry." 
 
 Mrs. Wyse, by her manner, always gave 
 people to understand that there had been 
 something wanting in her married life. That 
 it had not been one of perfect happiness. 
 The young girls, overhearing snatches of
 
 125 THE WIDOW WTSB. 
 
 conversations concerning it, said : " They say 
 he was perfectly horrid," meaning the late 
 Archibald Wyse, but nobody in Alliance knew 
 anything about the matter, excepting what 
 they could gather from Mrs. Houlton's vague 
 hints, which were always, of course, to her 
 daughter's credit.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS coming on Tuesday, the young 
 ladies of Madam Leonard's were permitted to 
 go home on the previous Saturday. Ethel 
 spent Sunday with Kitty, and on Monday, 
 much to that young lady's chagrin went to pay 
 the promised visit to Mr. Apthorpe. She re- 
 ceived a most cordial welcome. The house had 
 a holiday appearance, and there was an eager, 
 expectant look upon the faces of its inmates. 
 It was seen even in the eyes of the tawny, 
 splendid-looking St. Bernard, which walked ma- 
 jestically into the 'room to greet her. He was 
 followed by two lesser specimens of the canine 
 species. It was amusing to see the tiny white 
 Maltese terrier look reverently up to his big 
 companion. 
 
 " Is he not a noble fellow ? " said Mr. Apthorpe, 
 calling her attention to the first-mentioned dog. 
 " Do you notice the almost human look in his 
 eyes? He is disappointed, poor fellow. I
 
 130 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 believe he thought it was Jed. No, old fellow, 
 you'll hardly see him until evening. I need not 
 ask if you are fond of dogs, Miss Ethel. I can 
 see it in your eyes." 
 
 " I love them," said Ethel, enthusiastically, 
 " and I miss my own sadly. I shall make 
 friends with His Majesty at once," stroking 
 the head of the fine fellow beside her. " How 
 handsome he is ! " 
 
 "Yes," answered Mr. Apthorpe, "and so in- 
 telligent. Why, he almost talks. We are all 
 very fond of him, and care for him as if he were 
 a child. He has a regular bed, and lays his head 
 upon a pillow every night. I am glad you like 
 dogs. It will be a strong bond of sympathy 
 between us. But I see Eleanor is waiting to 
 take you to your room. I hope you will be 
 comfortable and happy, my dear." 
 
 " I am sure I shall be," said Ethel, gratefully, 
 as she followed Mrs. Amesbury to her room. 
 
 " Now, my dear," said her hostess, who 
 always made it a point to see, personally, that 
 her guests were comfortable, " pray, make your- 
 self thoroughly at home. My brother in- 
 sists upon the largest liberty, not only for
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 1 3 I 
 
 himself, but also for his friends. If you should 
 wish to be alone, you can be without apology, 
 but the whole house is open to you, with one 
 exception. Whenever you find the door of my 
 brother's 'den' closed, you may know that he 
 wishes to be alone. If it is open, go in freely, 
 for it is a sign of invitation. Now, I will leave 
 you, and send my own maid to assist you." 
 
 She started downstairs, but came back to 
 say : " I forgot to tell you that I have to go out 
 this morning ; you will not mind it, I am sure. 
 You will find my brother below, and luncheon 
 is served at two. I may not be back for it, but 
 it is a wholly informal meal." 
 
 Ethel had little need of a maid, and soon 
 dismissed her, and after making herself present- 
 able, went down to find her host, who, hearing 
 her step, called out : " Come into my den ! my 
 dear. I want you to see where I spend most 
 of my time." 
 
 Ethel entered, and found Mr. Apthorpe seated 
 in a large library surrounded by his dogs, books, 
 and papers, and as she glanced hastily around 
 upon the large cases of handsomely bound books, 
 the lovely oil paintings, fine statuary, and in- 
 viting easy-chairs, she said, laughingly :
 
 132 THE WIDOW WTSB. 
 
 " A rather luxurious den, I should say. You 
 evidently have no sympathy with asceticism." 
 
 " No," he answered, " I confess to a liking 
 for the good things of this life. I believe they 
 were given us to enjoy. I do not believe in 
 voluntary penance. There are plenty of hard 
 things that we are forced to suffer. Sin inevi- 
 tably brings its punishment, and there is no one 
 upon earth that is free from it. But I won't 
 preach you a sermon, for it is hardly my forte, 
 but instead I will show you some fine paintings 
 that I picked up in my wanderings." 
 
 Everything about this elegant house stamped 
 its owner as a man of the most delicate and 
 refined taste. Ethel felt that she was in an 
 enchanted castle, whose good genius had cast a 
 spell over her. Mr. Apthorpe was in his hap- 
 piest mood, and Ethel listened with a strange, 
 intense delight to his wholly charming conversa- 
 tion. She had associated with men of culture 
 all her life. Her father was a superior man in 
 all respects, and she was his especial pride and 
 constant companion. Few girls had her privi- 
 leges of association. She was a girl of rare 
 good sense, and while enjoying dancing and
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 133 
 
 other gay amusements thoroughly, she was not 
 frivolous, and she recognized at once her host's 
 superiority. He had, indeed, been endowed 
 with great mental gifts. He was a deep stu- 
 dent of science and literature, and a writer of 
 great force and strength, and a man so intel- 
 lectual, so versatile, with such ready wit, could 
 hardly fail of compelling from a girl of Ethel's 
 temperament a sort of worshipful admiration. 
 She pleased him, too, by her quick sympathy. 
 Her manner of listening was full of graceful 
 intelligence, which drew from him his best 
 thoughts. Indeed, it was a day of perfect en- 
 joyment for Ethel. And it was refreshing to 
 Richard Apthorpe to find his friend's beautiful 
 daughter so fresh and unspoiled. 
 
 There were many points of resemblance be- 
 tween Mr. Apthorpe and Dr. Townsend, though 
 the former was intellectually stronger and far 
 more gifted. Ethel had had implanted in her 
 inmost soul an intense hatred of shams and an 
 utter contempt for anything that seemed like 
 deception. The white light of a beautiful soul 
 shone in her eyes, and no one looking into their 
 clear depths could have a suspicion that the
 
 134 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 smallest amount of deceit could find a lodging- 
 place in her heart. 
 
 She was astonished when Mr. Apthorpe led 
 the way to the dining-room where luncheon was 
 spread. 
 
 " It cannot be two o'clock," she said, glancing 
 toward the mantel. 
 
 "Just ten minutes past," said Mr. Apthorpe, 
 smiling at her look of surprise. 
 
 After luncheon, which he took standing, Mr. 
 Apthorpe said : 
 
 " Now, my dear, if you are not tired of the 
 sound of my voice, I will read some of my own 
 poems to you ; but first, I must show you a little 
 painting that suggested the idea of one of them 
 to me." 
 
 It was a delicious bit of the gorgeous East. 
 A dark-eyed houri had thrown herself with 
 delightful abandon upon a luxurious couch. A 
 perfect picture of careless, unstudied grace. 
 Ethel stood before it as if fascinated. 
 
 "Do you like it ? " he asked, at length, finding 
 that she did not speak. 
 
 "It is perfect," she answered. "Do tell me, 
 who was the artist ? He was inspired when he 
 painted that picture."
 
 RICHARD APTHORPB. \ 3 5 
 
 " It is one of my own," he answered, care- 
 lessly. " I am glad you like it, for it is one of 
 my favorites." 
 
 She stopped short, as they were about enter- 
 ing the library door, and asked, incredulously : 
 "Do you mean that you painted it yourself?" 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" he answered, smiling at 
 her peculiar manner. 
 
 "Mr. Apthorpe," she said, with ridiculous 
 solemnity, " I am positively afraid of you. 
 Can you really do everything ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I cannot ! " he answered quickly, 
 "or I should change some people I know." 
 Then he added, more seriously : " I ought to 
 show something of which may be said, 'Well 
 done ! ' for I have had great opportunities." 
 
 He went to one of the bookcases and took 
 down a small volume, saying, 
 
 " Now, my dear, make yourself comfortable, 
 upon that lounge, while I soothe you with a 
 song." 
 
 As she lay there listening in dreamy content- 
 ment to the smoothly flowing lines, her small 
 hands clasped above her head, with its golden 
 crown, drawing back the close sleeve and
 
 136 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 revealing the beautifully rounded arms, Richard 
 Apthorpe thought he had never seen a fairer 
 picture. 
 
 " If I could only paint her as she is now," 
 he thought, " what a companion I could make 
 for the Eastern scene she admires so much ! " 
 
 In the meantime Mrs. Amesbury had returned 
 and had glanced into the library several times 
 unobserved. 
 
 She was a lady of great tact and kindness 
 of heart, and when her guests were happy, 
 she very wisely let them alone. Ethel felt 
 thoroughly at home from the first. She saw 
 that that was what they desired, and that 
 there was to be no labored attempt to entertain 
 her. Everything was naturally, easily, and 
 gracefully done. 
 
 "Do you think we may expect Gerald in 
 season for dinner?" asked Mrs. Amesbury, a 
 little anxiously, as she looked in a little later. 
 
 "He may come on the six-ten," answered 
 her brother, " though probably not until a later 
 train. ' It is strange he did not telegraph, but," 
 a little impatiently, "Jed is such a careless 
 fellow."
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 
 
 137 
 
 " I don't think Gerald is careless," answered 
 his sister. "He has probably sent a telegram 
 You know, there is sometimes a delay in the 
 delivery. We will delay dinner a little." 
 
 But dinner-time came and went, and Gerald 
 did not make his appearance. Indeed he had 
 not done so when Ethel retired for the night, 
 which she did early, saying that she was tired, 
 that the brother and sister might be alone to 
 greet the returned traveler. 
 
 " What a lovely girl she is," remarked Mrs. 
 Amesbury, as she left the room. 
 
 " She is, indeed," answered her brother. " I 
 find her very intelligent and appreciative, with 
 an opinion clearly her own. I notice the same 
 disposition to analyze people that is one of 
 her father's characteristics. Her criticisms are 
 very keen, too. I should recognize her as Ned 
 Townsend's daughter, anywhere. We used to 
 say in college that his scalpel was always at 
 hand." 
 
 " He is a physician, is he not ? " asked Mrs. 
 Amesbury. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mr. Apthorpe, "but being 
 wealthy by inheritance, he has never practised,
 
 138 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 except to give his services to those who were 
 too poor to pay for them. He is a noble- 
 hearted man, and I have always been very fond 
 of him, although I have not seen him for a 
 number of years. We must try and make little 
 Ethel happy. I am glad Jed is to be here." 
 
 " Yes," answered his sister. " Gerald can 
 do so much to make her visit pleasant." 
 
 Ethel was greeted the next morning, as she 
 drew back the curtains, with a burst of sun- 
 shine. It was a bright, glorious morning, but 
 she did not leave her chamber until the last 
 moment ; indeed it was not until the house- 
 maid had announced breakfast at her door, 
 that she slowly descended. She met Mr. 
 Apthorpe as he was passing through the hall 
 to the drawing-room, but his answer to her 
 pleasant greeting was quite unintelligible. A 
 little surprised at his coldness, she followed 
 him, remarking upon the beautiful morning. 
 
 " Is it ? " he growled. " I had not noticed it." 
 
 She looked at him in wonder, saying, 
 anxiously, " Are you ill, dear Mr. Apthorpe ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," he answered, a little more gently, 
 " I am not ill, my dear, but I am not as young
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 139 
 
 as I once was, and when I feel twinges of 
 rheumatism I am made painfully aware of it." 
 
 She passed into the breakfast-room, and 
 finding Mrs. Amesbury alone, said: 
 
 " I fear that Mr. Apthorpe is feeling very ill. 
 He does n't seem at all like himself, this 
 morning." 
 
 "Oh, he is not ill," said Mrs. Amesbury, 
 smiling : " he is only disappointed, that is all. 
 You are to take no notice of it, my dear. You 
 know, we expected Gerald last night, but 
 instead of our brother, came a letter, which 
 had in some unaccountable way been delayed, 
 saying that it was very uncertain when he 
 would be home, as he was about to join a party 
 of English friends who were going to Egypt. 
 We are very fond of Gerald, and it is a great 
 disappointment." 
 
 "Mr. Gerald is a great traveler, is he not?" 
 asked Ethel, feeling that she must say some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Oh, yes, both of my brothers are fond of 
 travel, and Gerald has been abroad a good part 
 of the time in the last five or six years. I 
 wanted you to know him. He is very clever, 
 and such a charming talker."
 
 I4O THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "Is he like Mr. Apthorpe?" asked Ethel, 
 feeling sure that he could not be. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! They are totally unlike. 
 You would never dream that they belonged to 
 the same "family," said Mrs. Amesbury. 
 
 "Doesn't Major Apthorpe like Boston?" 
 asked Ethel, trying to seem interested. 
 
 " Oh ! for that matter," said Mrs. Amesbury, 
 "to hear him discourse upon that subject you 
 would think that he considered it one of the 
 most delightful places on the face of the earth. 
 Oh, yes ! Gerald has a proper reverence for 
 Boston, only it happens that we are not able 
 to keep him here long at a time." 
 
 At that moment Mr. Apthorpe, who ap- 
 peared to be in no hurry for his breakfast, 
 came in. He was in what his sister called one 
 of his " moods. " Nothing seemed to exactly 
 please him. He found fault with the air, 
 which was too sharp, when he was out for his 
 regular morning walk. The sun was too 
 bright : it dazzled his eyes ; and the breakfast 
 was hardly to his taste. Finally, in looking 
 over the morning paper, he found something 
 which worked him up to what he called a
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 1 4 1 
 
 state of "righteous indignation," when he felt 
 better. 
 
 A few people had been invited to dinner, 
 and Ethel found that she had been bidden 
 to a rich intellectual feast, for at Richard 
 Apthorpe's dinner-table the talk was always 
 of the best and the wit the keenest. His 
 arrangement of the means of hospitality was 
 perfect. His dinners were good, and he had 
 that rare social instinct which enabled him 
 always to select those who were congenial to 
 each other. Occasionally, to be sure, as in the 
 present case, a disturbing element would creep 
 in ; hut it was always an accident. 
 
 Professor Aiken, an old acquaintance, had 
 dropped in, and was invited to stay. He was 
 a man so impressed with the idea of his own 
 importance that he could see nothing beyond 
 it. He had been asked, not without design, to 
 take Ethel in to dinner. Mr. Apthorpe said to 
 his sister, while passing : 
 
 " I want to see him try to overawe little 
 Ethel. She will show him his mistake, I 
 fancy." 
 
 Ethel was at first amused at his condescend-
 
 142 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 ing manner, and his evident efforts to come 
 down to her small comprehension, as he ques- 
 tioned her about her school and studies ; but 
 she soon tired of his trivial remarks, and 
 showed her annoyance plainly, for she was 
 losing a good deal of the brilliancy around her. 
 He persisted, however, in talking, taking him- 
 self for a subject, on which he seemed perfectly 
 at home. He took up the whole time in 
 explaining to her by what means he had 
 arrived at his present exalted position. 
 
 Mr. Apthorpe smiled, as they finally left the 
 table, to see a bright spot, indicative of sup- 
 pressed wrath, on Ethel's cheeks. It seemed 
 that the professor felt that he had not suf- 
 ficiently impressed her with his importance, 
 for she could not get rid of him. He kept 
 persistently by her side after their return to 
 the drawing-room. Finally Mr. Apthorpe 
 heard, with satisfaction, two or three sharp 
 retorts from the long-suffering Ethel, which 
 seemed not only to surprise, but to offend, the 
 wise professor, and there was a flash of sym- 
 pathy in his eyes which was not lost upon his 
 young guest.
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 143 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Mr. Apthorpe, teas- 
 ingly, the next morning, "I noticed that you 
 were enjoying a discussion with Professor 
 Aiken last evening. What do you think of 
 him ? " 
 
 "I hardly like to say," answered Ethel. 
 "You know I never saw him before." 
 
 " Ah ! but you are quick to form an opinion ; 
 let us have it," said he. 
 
 "Well, if you really wish to know," she 
 answered, flushing, partly with amusement and 
 partly with anger, at the remembrance of said 
 "discussion," "he seems to look at everybody 
 through the large end of the glass. They 
 seem to him very small, as well as a long way 
 from him. The letter 7 is, with him, the most 
 important one in the whole alphabet. He is a 
 tenacious old bulldog, holding on to his opin- 
 ions, right or wrong, with a grip which says, 
 'I will die before I will let go.' And being a 
 dear little white cat, I was, of course, true to 
 my nature ; I arched my back, spit at him, 
 scratched him, and worried him generally, until 
 he was glad to leave me, dragging his old 
 opinions after him. He evidently thought my
 
 144 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 own of very little consequence, and I should 
 not have quarreled with him for that, had he 
 let me alone ; but I am not in the habit of 
 being patronized. But, really," she went on, 
 after a little pause, "you must have been 
 ashamed of me ; I was ashamed of myself. I 
 did n't know I could be so belligerent. There 
 was so little to arouse my blood in the languid 
 South that I fancied myself amiable. I am 
 afraid I do not appreciate your friend as he 
 thinks he deserves. Perhaps I was on the 
 wrong side of him. I might have been awed, 
 had I not espied, beneath his dignified garb, 
 the stilts peeping out. I am willing and glad 
 to look up to a man who towers, standing 
 grandly on his feet ; but if he be mounted on 
 stilts, let him look out," with a sudden motion 
 of the hand, as though she would sweep away 
 the imaginary stilts. 
 
 Mr. Apthorpe laughed, saying, 
 
 "You are your papa's own daughter, my 
 dear." 
 
 " I am glad to have you say that," answered 
 Ethel, "for I am very proud of papa." 
 
 "You have good reason to be," said Mr.
 
 RICHARD APTHORPE. 145 
 
 Apthorpe ; " and I, too, am proud of his 
 friendship. He is worthy of any man's ad- 
 miration." 
 
 "But why is it," she went on, "that that 
 man should arouse all the antagonism in my 
 nature ? " 
 
 " I cannot say," he answered ; " but I under- 
 derstand your feelings perfectly. He often 
 attacks me in the same way." 
 
 " You ? " said Ethel, with an incredulous 
 look. " How does he dare to do that ? You 
 are as much above him as heaven is above 
 the earth." 
 
 He could not mistake the genuineness of her 
 admiration, and, appreciated and admired as 
 he had always justly been by all whose opinions 
 were worth having, his heart was touched as 
 it had never been before, and he kissed her, 
 softly saying, 
 
 " I wish we could keep you with us always, 
 my dear ; " and she answered : 
 
 " It seems strange that you should care for 
 a simple girl like me, but I believe you do, and 
 it makes me very happy." 
 
 There was a tear in Richard Apthorpe's eye,
 
 146 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 as she left the room, but he dashed it 
 impatiently away with the irrelevant exclama- 
 tion : 
 
 " Why the devil Jed can't come home and 
 live like a Christian, instead of roving about 
 the world like a veritable Bohemian, I cannot 
 understand ! " 
 
 He was a strange mixture of tenderness and 
 inflexibility, of sweetness and acidity. Terribly 
 fascinating in his anger, and very lovable in his 
 moments of tender thoughtfulness for the 
 happiness of others. 
 
 Ethel did not try to analyze her feelings. 
 She was happy, in a dreamy contented sort of 
 way, with an undefined hope that this pleasant 
 life might last forever. She was thoroughly 
 at her ease, and she was thankful, selfishly 
 thankful, that the supercilious Gerald's return 
 had been indefinitely postponed. She felt 
 sorry for the disappointment of his family, for 
 they were absurdly fond of him, but as Lizzie 
 Highgate would say : 
 
 " It was just too awfully convenient for her.' ;
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOLIDAY PLEASURES. 
 
 " MY POOR, NEGLECTED PAPA, My con- 
 science upbraids me for having allowed my pen 
 to lie idle so long, but do not imagine for a 
 moment that you have been out of my mind. 
 I think of you always and long for some good 
 genius to transport you hither in the twinkling 
 of an eye, as in the days of Aladdin the wonder- 
 ful. I wish you could know how much I am en- 
 joying in this lovely home. I came on Monday, 
 and every moment has been one of happiness. 
 Mrs. Amesbury received me with open arms, 
 and Mr. Apthorpe has been delightful. You 
 said he had a heart of gold, and you said truly. 
 His mind is stored with diamonds and pearls 
 and all sorts of lovely and precious things, 
 which are continually dropping from his lips. 
 Congratulate me, dear papa, on my good- 
 fortune in being here to catch them as they 
 full. But he does not believe in casting pearls 
 before swine. He does not show his jewels
 
 148 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to everybody. It is only when he is surrounded 
 by those he likes that he shows how thoroughly 
 charming he can be. I do not flatter myself 
 that it is because of anything he sees in me 
 to admire, that he is so kind, but because of 
 his friendship for you. Thank you, dear, for 
 condescending to be my father. Mr. Apthorpe 
 is the most unconsciously bright man I ever 
 met. But sometimes he is very severe. Mrs. 
 Amesbury calls him her two-edged sword. 
 Nana Cleveland says that he is a perfect lion 
 when aroused, and that he can not only growl, 
 but he can roar so terrifically that he can be 
 heard all over the country. But he has not 
 frightened me yet. He has been most kind 
 and considerate in every way. What a wonder- 
 fully fascinating man he is ! He says that he 
 has had great opportunities, and I am sure 
 he has never let any of them escape him. It 
 is the intensity of his utterances, that makes 
 him seem so aggressive. He is always ready 
 when occasion calls for rebuke, and then his 
 accents fall upon the ear so clear and keen 
 and stinging they seem electrical. One could 
 imagine him in the thickest of the affray of
 
 HOLIDAY PLEASURES, 149 
 
 battle, and with all-controlling power hurling 
 with tones of thunder the squadrons on to 
 victory, combating successfully what would 
 seem to others a forlorn hope. He would be 
 a prominent man anywhere. His towering 
 intellect makes him seem a giant among men. 
 There is something grand in his denunciations 
 of wrong-doing, but I should not want to be 
 the culprit standing before him. 
 
 " I should not speak so freely to any one 
 else, but I am sure that you, who know him 
 so well, will not think me too enthusiastic. 
 The remembrance of this visit will last until 
 I make another, for I am to come again, and 
 render me superior to the small annoyances of 
 school life. I shall write again, very soon, 
 dear papa, but just now I am too full of one 
 subject to write on any other. 
 
 " Your loving 
 
 "TEDDY." 
 
 At this moment there was a slight knock 
 at the door, followed by some one rushing in 
 and seizing Ethel in her arms. It was Kitty, 
 whom she had not seen since the Monday 
 before.
 
 150 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " I have come to carry you off ! " she said ; 
 " mamma is to give a stupid little reception for 
 some school boys and teachers this evening, 
 and she insisted on my helping her to entertain 
 them, so I insist upon your coming to help 
 me. You won't have to dress ; come, put on 
 your hat and wrap. I have explained it all to 
 your friends below and they say that I may 
 have you if I will bring you back to-morrow, 
 which I shall do unless," she said mischiev- 
 ously, " you should wish to stay and have a 
 cup of tea with the malcontents." 
 
 "And who are the 'malcontents'?" asked 
 Ethel. 
 
 " Why, don't you know ? " asked Kitty. 
 " They are those women who are not satisfied 
 with that state of life in which it has pleased 
 God to place them. They meet every month 
 to talk over their grievances, and state their 
 ' views ' to their sisters in affliction, and try to 
 devise some means to soften their hard-hearted 
 masters, or what they would like better, to 
 compel them to give up the reins of govern- 
 ment to them. They are like little children, 
 who, thinking their little hands sufficiently
 
 HO LI DA T PLEA S URES. \ 5 I 
 
 strong, are crying to drive the horses. As if 
 women could n't do mischief enough without 
 the ballot ! " 
 
 " Does your mamma believe in woman's 
 suffrage ? " asked Ethel. 
 
 "To a certain extent," answered Kitty, "and 
 they hope to win her over completely." 
 
 " But those poor boys weigh heavily on my 
 mind. I suppose they are thinking about their 
 neckties now, and they will work themselves 
 into a state of positive agony before evening. 
 I told mamma that it was an act of cruelty on 
 her part to invite them, but she thinks they 
 will enjoy it. I didn't take the carriage, for 
 I thought you might like to walk." 
 
 " I should like it very much," answered 
 Ethel, "as I have not been out of the house 
 to-day." 
 
 They had a long, delightful walk and reached 
 the house just as it was being lighted for the 
 evening. 
 
 Mrs. Brewster met Ethel with a kiss of 
 welcome, saying, 
 
 " It is very good of you to come, my dear. 
 You must both of you try to make the young
 
 152 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 men feel at their ease. I know that you do 
 not need to be cautioned," she went on, turn- 
 ing to Ethel, "but I am always a little appre- 
 hensive with regard to my mischievous Kitten." 
 
 " I '11 be as serious as a judge presiding over 
 a murder trial," said the irrepressible Kitty. 
 
 " No, my dear," said Mrs. Brewster, smiling ; 
 " I wish you to be neither very serious nor 
 yet giddy, but perfectly natural." 
 
 "Just hear her ! " said Kitty, mischief danc- 
 ing in her brown eyes. " She wants me to be 
 ' perfectly natural ! ' Yet my natural state is 
 such that she is 'constantly apprehensive.' I 
 call that unconscionably unreasonable. Mamma 
 does n't know that the last time she had such 
 a gathering I was deliberately awkward, just 
 to put one poor fellow at his ease, and I am 
 sure kindness to animals could go no farther 
 than that, and yet that very evening she 
 threatened me with the nursery just because 
 she fancied I was amused at something." 
 
 " I don't know what I should do without 
 that nursery," said Mrs. Brewster, laughing. 
 " I do really have to send Kitty there now, 
 occasionally."
 
 HO LI DA T PLEA S UKES. I 5 3 
 
 Mrs. Brewster was a gracious hostess and 
 the young men felt at ease with her always, 
 but mischievous Kitty unconsciously played 
 sad havoc with their too susceptible hearts. 
 They belonged to a university in which Mrs. 
 Brewster was very much interested, and they 
 received many proofs of that lady's kind 
 thoughtfulness from time to time. 
 
 Kitty managed to meet Ethel alone during 
 the evening and said hurriedly : 
 
 " Well, dear, what do you think of mamma's 
 pets ? They remind me of those mechanical 
 dolls which can bend, and manage to articulate 
 something like words, if they are squeezed. 
 If a pretty girl speaks to one of them, it 
 puts him in torture, which answers to the 
 squeezing, and he mumbles an unintelligible 
 word or two. How I pity the poor things ! 
 and mamma really thinks they enjoy it." 
 
 " I imagined myself in a bowling-alley," said 
 Ethel. " They were all standing in such 
 straight, solemn rows, that I couldn't help 
 wishing for a bowl. I am sure if I could have 
 had one, they would all have gone down 
 together."
 
 154 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 " Oh ! that is very good," said Kitty. " I 
 must tell mamma of that." 
 
 " Not for the world," said Ethel. " She 
 would not threaten me with the nursery, but 
 she would send me there at once, and serve 
 me right, too. Go to your duty, my dear. I 
 am going to talk to that poor boy, who is 
 twisting his fingers off in the corner." 
 
 There were the usual number of accidents 
 at the supper-table. Ethel was amused to see, 
 as one young gentleman let a dish of ice-cream 
 slip out of his hand, that Kitty quick as 
 thought dropped hers, and said to her compan- 
 ion, loud enough for the unlucky fellow to 
 hear : 
 
 " Don't let mamma know, for I do really 
 want her to think that I have got through one 
 evening without dropping anything." 
 
 And the next morning, as she saw her 
 mamma looking ruefully at a large spot on 
 her handsome carpet, she said, with mock 
 seriousness : 
 
 " I did it, mamma, with my little dish of 
 cream, for I knew that you would rather have 
 forty grease spots than that one poor boy 
 should feel awkward."
 
 HO LI DA r PLEA S URES. 1 5 5 
 
 Mr. Brewster, who was standing near, 
 laughed heartily, saying, 
 
 " That 's right, Kittikin. It is the kind of 
 charity which covers a multitude of sins ; you 
 are growing more like your mamma every 
 day." 
 
 Ethel returned to the Apthorpes' the next 
 morning in a drizzle of rain and sleet, her 
 hands full of lovely roses. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Apthorpe, " I thought 
 it was stormy ; but you have brought us 
 sunshine." 
 
 " I have brought some roses to light up 
 your den," said Ethel. "Are they not 
 lovely ? " 
 
 "Indeed they are," he answered, "and I 
 will enjoy them by-and-by. I have to go down 
 town for an hour or two. In the meantime, if 
 you are in the mood for reading, here is a 
 French novel that I have been looking over ; 
 you will find it bright and amusing. I believe 
 Eleanor is busy." 
 
 Ethel took the book to her room, and was 
 soon oblivious to everything else. The next 
 day, which was stormy also, she spent quietly
 
 156 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 within doors ; but on Monday came sunshine 
 a clear, cold day. She took a brisk walk in the 
 morning, and after luncheon she went out with 
 Mrs. Amesbury for a little shopping. 
 
 " I am going to the florist's first," said Mrs. 
 Amesbury. "We are to have a few friends 
 this evening only a small company, my clear : 
 the Brewsters and a few others ; and I want 
 you to select the flowers." 
 
 "Oh, that will be delightful!" said Ethel. 
 " I am sure Kitty will enjoy it as much as I 
 shall." 
 
 That evening, about ten o'clock, as Ethel 
 had strayed away from the others, and was 
 standing before an odd carving, whose hideous 
 grotcsqueness had often fascinated her, she 
 heard Mrs. Amesbury's voice saying, 
 
 "Ah ! here she is." 
 
 She looked up quickly, as her hostess said: 
 " Ethel, my dear, this is my brother Gerald. 
 Miss Townsend Gerald," and saw, as she 
 acknowledged the introduction, a young man 
 of medium height, with smiling blue eyes and 
 blonde whiskers, cut in the English style, 
 who, bowing with much grace, expressed his 
 pleasure at meeting her,
 
 HOL IDA T PL EA S URES. \ 5 7 
 
 " I hope we shall be friends, Miss Town- 
 send," he said. "My brother has spoken of 
 you in his letters, and I have heard so much of 
 your father from him that I felt that I scarcely 
 needed an introduction." 
 
 Fortunately for Ethel, at that moment he 
 excused himself at a call from his brother. 
 She was, for once in her life, greatly em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " So this is the elegant Major Apthorpe," 
 she soliloquized, as he turned away. " I won- 
 der when he came. I am sure they did not 
 expect him ; or, if they did, they wanted to 
 surprise me. Not a very pleasant surprise, I 
 am sure. What an 'idjet' he must have 
 thought me, as I stood staring at him." 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Mrs. Amesbury, com- 
 ing back to her, "you see Gerald has returned, 
 and it was such a surprise. He walked in 
 about ten minutes ago, as though it were the 
 most natural thing in the world." 
 
 "But he is in evening-dress," said Ethel, 
 surprised out of her usual politeness. 
 
 "Ah, yes!" answered Mrs. Amesbury; 
 "that is like Gerald. He is always prepared
 
 158 THE V/IDOW WTSE. 
 
 for an emergency. He carries a dress-suit 
 with him always ; and as he came up to the 
 house he noticed that there was company, so 
 he drove to the hotel, made himself present- 
 able, and came back. I was so astonished! 
 You see, this party of friends gave up their 
 intended visit to Egypt because two of their 
 number were obliged to return to England on 
 account of the death of a relative ; so we have 
 Gerald, after all, and it will be a very ' Happy 
 New Year' for us; but let us go back to the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 Ethel's eyes were irresistibly drawn toward 
 Major Apthorpe, who was, of course, the 
 centre of attraction. She noticed this care- 
 fully costumed young man from the points of 
 his spotless collar to the tips of his dainty, 
 perfectly fitting boots, and she said to her- 
 self : 
 
 "Kitty is right. He certainly is 'nice.' " 
 As she drew nearer she noticed that he had 
 a low, musical voice, and that he compelled 
 attention by his earnest way of presenting a 
 subject. His perfect courtesy and high breed- 
 ing were noticeable, even among the cultivated
 
 HO LI DA T PLEA S URES. \ 5 9 
 
 people present. She was beginning to soften 
 toward him, and to feel as though she had 
 done him an injustice, when a voice at her side 
 aroused her, and brought back all her unrea- 
 sonable prejudice. 
 
 "Do you see how Major Apthorpe is 
 enjoying the sensation he has made, Miss 
 Townsend ? " 
 
 It was Nana Cleveland who spoke. 
 
 " It is quite like a play, is it not ? " Ethel 
 answered, a little coldly. " Major Apthorpe's 
 return was very unexpected to his friends." 
 
 " My dear Miss Townsend," said Miss Cleve- 
 land, " Major Apthorpe is in the habit of doing 
 unexpected things. It adds to the general 
 interest concerning him. You will notice that 
 when people are speaking of him every sen- 
 tence ends with an exclamation point when 
 it does n't with an interrogation." 
 
 Ethel laughed. 
 
 " Is he really such an egotist as you rep- 
 resent him ? " she asked. 
 
 "Oh! you must judge for yourself. You 
 are likely to have an opportunity," said Miss 
 Cleveland, as she moved away.
 
 160 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "At all events," thought Ethel, "he shall 
 have nothing from me upon which to feed his 
 vanity." 
 
 A few minutes later, as she stood listening 
 to the hum of well-bred voices, where Nana 
 had left her, she heard that young lady's 
 voice a little above the rest, and slightly 
 acrimonious, talking to Major Apthorpe. 
 She noticed a slight vein of sarcasm running 
 through his conversation with her, and she 
 also noticed "that air of fine disdain" which 
 Nana had spoken of. 
 
 "How bitter she is toward him," said Ethel 
 to herself. " One could almost imagine her 
 to be in love with him, she seems to hate 
 him so."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. 
 
 ETHEL was awakened the next morning by 
 the joyful barking of the dogs. She heard a 
 door open, and a soft, caressing voice as the 
 petted animals tumbled pellmell into the 
 room. 
 
 " Everybody seems to love him," she thought, 
 " except Nana, and I am not perfectly sure that 
 she does not." 
 
 They met at breakfast, but Major Apthorpe 
 addressed little of his conversation to her. He 
 talked with his brother concerning his travels 
 and their mutual friends abroad. After break- 
 fast both brothers went out, and Ethel settled 
 herself in the library with a magazine, hoping 
 to have a quiet time by herself. A few min- 
 utes later, however, Major Apthorpe walked in, 
 saying, as he rubbed his cold hands : 
 
 " These chilly mornings must make you long 
 for your Southern home, Miss Townsend." 
 He possessed an exquisite charm, a grace
 
 I 62 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 of manner as rare as it was pleasing, and it 
 was impossible that Ethel should not feel its 
 influence. 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered, " I like the North. 
 I have Northern blood in my veins, which I 
 feel in this crisp, exhilarating air to the very 
 tips of my fingers ; but, oh ! I do miss my roses, 
 my big, luscious roses." She checked herself 
 quickly, for she did not mean to show any 
 part of herself to this man of the world, this 
 cold-hearted, polished cynic. He should not 
 look upon her as a gushing school-girl. He 
 noticed her sudden change of manner, and 
 smiled, saying to himself : 
 
 "Very pretty, but decidedly capricious." 
 
 There was a conflict in her mind an hour 
 later, as, hearing a step, she looked up just as 
 a shower of roses came down upon her book, 
 and she looked into Gerald Apthorpe's laugh- 
 ing eyes, as he said : 
 
 " Imagine yourself in the Sunny South, Miss 
 Townsend. Here are sunshine, warmth, flowers. 
 What more can you ask for ? " 
 
 Her first feeling was of anger against herself, 
 him, and the poor flowers ; but it passed away, 
 and she took them up saying, gently,
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. 163 
 
 " They are very beautiful. Thank you, but I 
 did not mean to ask for them." 
 
 " And you did not," he answered. " I love 
 flowers, too, and I mean to enjoy these with 
 you. Shall I put them in water ? " 
 
 He called a servant, who brought a vase filled 
 with water. He noticed that she retained a few, 
 which she placed in her corsage, and said to 
 himself : 
 
 " If she does n't throw them away in a pet at 
 the end of five minutes, I suppose I ought to 
 be profoundly grateful. I wonder that Dick 
 should have taken such an amazing fancy to 
 her. He must have looked at her through his 
 artistic eye. She is uncommonly pretty." 
 
 Although for the next few days Ethel could 
 not help acknowledging to herself that this 
 self-sufficient young man was very thoughtful 
 for her comfort in a quiet, unobtrusive sort of 
 way, she meant to be constantly on her guard 
 lest she should seem to have fallen under that 
 charm of manner of which he himself was evi- 
 dently as fully conscious as his admiring friends. 
 Cool indifference was what she aimed at, but she 
 often forgot herself, thus strengthening his first
 
 1 64 THE WIDOW wrsR. 
 
 estimate of her that she was a spoiled beauty, 
 capricious, vain, and coquettish. He did not 
 trouble her with his society. Indeed, at first 
 she saw but little of him. He was full of plans 
 and projects which he talked over with his 
 brother, and seemed sometimes almost unaware 
 of her presence. He was at times provokingly 
 indifferent. His mind seemed completely en- 
 grossed with- business affairs. 
 
 Major Apthorpe had never been so foolish 
 as to fall in love in the whole course of his life. 
 He enjoyed his popularity, and why should he 
 not ? There was a certain magnetism about 
 him that was irresistible to men as well as to 
 women. The efforts of managing mammas to 
 secure so eligible a parti for their daughters 
 were evident to everybody, and extremely 
 amusing to observers ; for he was perfectly 
 heart-whole, strongly fortified at all points, 
 and he took no pains to conceal the fact. The 
 truth is, he was too fastidious to feel quite 
 satisfied with the modern society belle, but 
 there was, deep down in his heart, a sweet, 
 womanly ideal, with which he compared each 
 young lady who had at all interested him, and
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. 165 
 
 the verdict so far had been : " Tried and found 
 wanting." 
 
 The mammas said : " He is not a marrying 
 man " ; each one at the same time secretly 
 hoping to find some weak point to assail. No 
 one could call him a fop, but his taste in 
 matters of dress was simply perfect. He was 
 " nice," from the crown of his well-balanced 
 head to the tips of his daintily shod feet. 
 He had, as I have said, polished, delightful 
 manners, a sweet, persuasive voice, and seemed 
 able to sway his hearers whithersoever he 
 would. He was not a man of wild and reck- 
 less theories, though an untiring enthusiast, 
 who put his whole soul into his work, and 
 though slender of frame, his physical endur- 
 ance was remarkable. It was the buoyancy 
 of his spirits which made him, no matter 
 what fatigue he had undergone, always fresh, 
 gay, debonair, entertaining his friends always 
 with the same airy ease and elegance. But he 
 could be gay without being dissolute. Gerald 
 Apthorpe's character was above reproach. 
 
 Ethel was wont to ensconce herself in a 
 corner of the sofa in the library, with her
 
 1 66 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 book, when Mr. Apthorpe was absent, and 
 one morning, the latter part of the week, she 
 had been reading an hour or more when 
 Major Apthorpe, whom she had imagined out 
 as usual at that time of the day, walked 
 leisurely in, with a lighted cigar between his 
 lips, which he threw away on discovering her 
 presence. 
 
 "I have disturbed you," he said; "shall I 
 go away ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," she answered. "I am glad to 
 shut my book. I have read too long already. 
 But why do you waste good cigars in this 
 prodigal fashion ? That is the second one 
 you have thrown away this morning." 
 
 " I thought it might be disagreeable to you ; 
 besides, I would rather talk with you than 
 smoke," he said, gallantly. " I am not wedded 
 to cigars." 
 
 " You can smoke and talk, too," she answered. 
 " It would not trouble me in the least ; indeed, 
 I rather like the flavor of a cigar. Papa is 
 always smoking, and we are constantly to- 
 gether when at home. And do you know," 
 she added, mischievously, " that Southern ladies 
 sometimes smoke ? "
 
 MA yOR APTHORPE. \ 6 7 
 
 "Ah," he said, with the slightest possible 
 curl of the lip, "perhaps I have been remiss. 
 May I offer you a cigarette ? Will you smoke 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Not for the world," answered Ethel, quickly. 
 "I think the habit unladylike in the extreme." 
 
 "Then I shall not smoke," he said, decidedly. 
 " What are you reading ? Ah, I see. You 
 must be devoted to history, to read it during 
 the holidays." 
 
 " I detest it heartily," she answered. " It is 
 a self-imposed daily task, though I really got 
 interested this morning, for a wonder. But 
 I am hopeless, as far as names and dates are 
 concerned. Madam Leonard considers me 
 a positive disgrace in this respect. There are 
 only two dates that I make any pretence of 
 remembering. They are 1492 and 1812. I 
 know there was a war in one, and a discovery 
 in the other ; but I sometimes get them mixed. 
 I do, indeed. I wonder if there is any way to 
 cultivate the memory. What 's-his-name has 
 said I dare say you remember who, I am 
 sure I do not that the mind is like a sieve: 
 the more it is crowded, the larger the holes
 
 1 68 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 become. You can imagine how mine has been 
 crammed, since everything runs through." 
 
 Major Apthorpe laughed, and said : "Tell me 
 about your school. Who is Madam Leonard, 
 and do you like her ? " 
 
 " Oh, you must not make the mistake of 
 calling it a school," said Ethel ; "madam would 
 be shocked at the bare mention of the word. 
 You must know that it is a refined and exclu- 
 sive home for a few fortunate young ladies. 
 Madam considers it an absolutely safe place 
 for us. I imagine the people around this home 
 think it is a sort of asylum for those who are 
 mentally diseased. They must surely think 
 that we are in some degree dangerous, since 
 we are so carefully guarded." 
 
 " It must relieve your friends of a good deal 
 of anxiety," said Gerald, amused' at her recital. 
 " Do you have good teachers ? " 
 
 "The very best," answered Ethel, "with the 
 exception of the French teacher ; madam is 
 looking for another." 
 
 " I know of one. A Parisian, of fine educa- 
 tion and elegant manners ; one whom I can 
 heartily recommend," said Major Apthorpe,
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. 169 
 
 eagerly. "If you will give me Madam 
 Leonard's address, I will write to her at once, 
 for I am interested in this young man, and 
 would like to get him employment." 
 
 " Fs he young and handsome ? " asked Ethel. 
 Again she noticed the curl of the sensitive lip, 
 as he answered : 
 
 " He is both young and fine-looking." 
 
 "Oh, well, that settles the matter," said 
 Ethel, decidedly. "He won't do at all. 
 Madam Leonard had an applicant just before 
 the holidays, and I heard her say to Miss 
 Carpenter, concerning him : ' He had the high- 
 est testimonials as to character and ability, 
 but he is too young, a good deal too young, 
 and too good-looking. Young ladies are very 
 impressionable.' " 
 
 "Poor young man," said Major Apthorpe, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Poor young ladies, you should say," 
 answered Ethel. " We are not allowed to look 
 at a man under sixty, and not even at sixty, 
 if he happens to be a handsome man. But 
 I do wish you would interest yourself in this 
 matter, for I want the girls to have a better
 
 170 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 teacher than they have had. But, remember 
 that you must not only find a man who is 
 ugly, but he must have commonplace ugliness. 
 There must be no mystery about him, either. 
 Nothing picturesque, for there is a wonderful 
 charm about anything mysterious, and pictur- 
 esque ugliness has a horrible fascination for 
 us." 
 
 " My friend might arrange a hump, and 
 limp a little," suggested Gerald. 
 
 " But you forget that madam is a woman. 
 She would be sure to find him out at once," 
 said Ethel. 
 
 " So women are never deceived ? " said he. 
 
 " Not when they resolutely set out not to 
 be," said Ethel. " Sometimes they fail through 
 carelessness, and sometimes they permit them- 
 selves to fall in love, and so are blinded ; but 
 Madam Leonard is constantly on the alert, 
 and as to her falling in love, why, the idea 
 is quite too preposterous to think of for a 
 moment. Her 'body is fashioned on the 
 refrigerator plan, in which her heart is laid 
 away to keep. No, your applicant must be 
 genuine."
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. \ *] \ 
 
 And so they talked, sometimes gravely and 
 sometimes gayly, until Mr. Apthorpe's return, 
 who, hearing them talking so amicably together, 
 said to his sister, in a well-pleased tone of 
 voice : 
 
 "They seem to be getting on. I say, it 
 would n't be a bad plan for Jed to settle 
 down, eh ? " 
 
 They saw a good deal of each other during 
 the last week of Ethel's visit. Gerald was 
 beginning to understand her better, and he 
 seemed to seek her society, and she often 
 found herself listening for his step, which she 
 had learned to know. She had not only 
 entirely forgotten to be ungracious, but she 
 was conscious of a spiteful feeling, that was 
 wholly feminine, against Nana Cleveland, who 
 had so entirely misrepresented him, and who, 
 she now felt sure, secretly admired him. She 
 had neglected her father since Major 
 Apthorpe's return, and she promised her- 
 self that she would make up for it after she 
 went back to Madam Leonard's. But she 
 really had nothing to write about. She had 
 expressed her admiration of Mr. Apthorpe in
 
 172 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 the strongest terms, and there was nothing 
 new that she could say. To be sure, she had 
 been to the theatre, and visited some picture- 
 galleries, and had driven about with Mrs. 
 Amesbury and her youngest brother, that 
 was all ; but she had never kept even the 
 slightest thing from him, and when she had 
 quite made up her mind about Major Apthorpe 
 she wfmld write about him. She had enjoyed 
 her visit extremely, and as the day of her 
 departure drew near, she found herself wish- 
 ing that it might be prolonged. She was to 
 spend the last few days of her vacation with 
 Kitty. Mrs. Amesbury and Mr. Apthorpe 
 expressed real regret at her departure, and 
 a request for a few days at Easter. Major 
 Apthorpe was polite, but she would have been 
 better pleased had he been less light and airy 
 in his farewell. 
 
 " I have been thinking the matter over, 
 Miss Townsend," he said, " and find that I 
 cannot comply with your request. It is an 
 impossible one. Fancy," he went on, turning 
 to his brother, " she asks me to find for 
 Madam Leonard an educated, refined Parisian
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE. 173 
 
 who shall be totally uninteresting. I contend 
 that such a being does not exist. I am very 
 sorry," turning to Ethel. " If there is any 
 other way in which I can serve you," with an 
 exquisite bow, "command me." 
 
 She thought, as she drove away : 
 " He might as well have said ' Good-by. 
 So glad to have met you. I shall remember 
 you for just about five minutes.'" And she 
 made a firm resolve at that moment to think 
 of nothing but her books and her father on 
 her return to Madam Leonard's. 
 
 The days went slowly by. Ethel had 
 enjoyed her visit too much to forget it. The 
 contrast with her present life was too great, 
 but she set herself resolutely at work. She 
 was more studious and more serious than she 
 had ever been before, and Kitty marveled at the 
 change in her. But at last the Easter holidays 
 came, which were of a week's duration only, 
 as Madam Leonard preferred closing the year 
 the first of June. Ethel went home with 
 Kitty as usual, and she spent two days with 
 the Apthorpes. Gerald was away, and did 
 not return until after her departure ; and,
 
 174 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 much as she enjoyed Mr. Apthorpe's society, 
 there seemed to be something wanting. His 
 brother fumed and scolded because he did 
 not come back as he had promised, and 
 Ethel was ashamed to confess, even to her- 
 self, how much she missed him. She began 
 to long for the end of the school year, when 
 she would go into the country, and forget 
 everything in the enjoyment of nature.
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 ALLIANCE. 
 
 THE social harmony existing in this place 
 was remarkable. As a proof of it here was 
 Fraternity Hall, and there the Amity Club 
 rooms, and a little farther on the church 
 sociable parlors. It boasted three Shake- 
 speare clubs, and book clubs without number. 
 There was sometimes a little disaffection, 
 to be sure, but that is unavoidable among 
 women. For instance, one would-be ruler of 
 society, who had often been heard to declare 
 that she " hated po'try," was offended because 
 she was not chosen president of a Shake- 
 speare club, and withdrew in high dudgeon. 
 This would never do. The Widow Wyse, 
 the unanimously elected president, took it on 
 herself to anoint the creaking wheels of the 
 literary society with the convenient, oleaginous 
 compound she never allowed herself to be 
 without. She insisted upon resigning in 
 favor of the irate lady, which so mollified her
 
 1^6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 that she readily accepted the second place. 
 So peace was restored, and the rightful pres- 
 ident more honored than before. It was the 
 fashion to have literary tastes and aspirations, 
 and Alliance would not allow itself to be 
 behind the times. To be sure, the young 
 girls yawned behind their fans at the English 
 literature lectures, and fancied themselves 
 undetected. But now and then a courageous 
 girl would say honestly that she hated the 
 whole thing. 
 
 " For goodness' sake ! " said one gay young 
 girl to Mrs. Wyse, " is this never to end ? 
 I am sure I cannot bear it much longer ; I 
 do hope there is no intention of forming a 
 'Summer School of Philosophy,' but I begin 
 to fear it." 
 
 "You poor, little rosebud," answered Mrs. 
 Wyse ; " I do pity you, and I shall propose 
 an adjournment until the autumn at our next 
 meeting. I expect a friend from Boston next 
 week a Miss Cleveland. She is bright and 
 clever, and I am sure you will all like her. 
 You girls must help me entertain her. It is 
 almost time for picnics and excursions. I
 
 ALLIANCE. 177 
 
 noticed a new building on the shore of our 
 beautiful little lake. Is it a hall ? We might 
 have dancing." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," answered the young lady. " It 
 is especially for summer picnics, where we 
 may go for shelter. We can dance or do 
 anything else we like." 
 
 " How perfectly lovely ! " said Mrs. Wyse. 
 " It supplies a long-felt want. Now, do not 
 forget to tell the girls all about it, and we 
 will meet at the clubroom and talk it all 
 over, and plan for the summer ; at least, the 
 first part of it. I suppose most of us will 
 be away during July and. August." 
 
 Miss Cleveland did not reach Alliance until 
 the last week in May, and after her arrival 
 a round of gayeties was begun, which was 
 continued until the last of June, when every- 
 thing of the kind came to a sudden stop. 
 
 Miss Cleveland was enjoying her visit 
 immensely. Mrs. Wyse and her mother 
 spared no pains to be agreeable. The fasci- 
 nating widow was not surprised to receive 
 an early call from her guest's cousin, Reginald 
 Cleveland, and his friend, August Brenner, the
 
 178 THE WIDOW 
 
 young German. Indeed, she would have felt 
 very much disappointed had they not come, 
 for they had been assigned parts in the pro- 
 gramme she had arranged. She received the 
 young men in a flatteringly cordial manner, 
 and Reginald Cleveland said : 
 
 " I had no idea, Mrs. Wyse, that Alliance 
 was such a pretty place. We are on our way 
 North, but we have resolved to stay a day or 
 two and look it over." 
 
 " Oh, that will be charming ! but you have 
 seen nothing of its beauties, which lie in its 
 surroundings. We shall be more than de- 
 lighted to point them out to you," said the 
 fair widow, flashing a smile at Brenner, which 
 electrified him. 
 
 She was dangerously attractive at times, and 
 she knew well her power over the young Ger- 
 man. She had not told her mother the truth 
 concerning him ; for she knew perfectly well 
 that there was nothing that could induce him 
 to leave his native country while she remained 
 in it. She reasoned that one excuse was as 
 good as another, until she got ready to explain 
 everything. She had spoken of him, as she
 
 ALLIANCE. 1 79 
 
 said, because she wished him to be cordially 
 received by her mother. 
 
 "We must treat our friends to a drive 
 around our beautiful little miniature lake to- 
 morrow morning," she said to Nana ; "and I 
 am sure they will be so enchanted that we 
 shall be able to persuade them to stay until 
 Friday, for we are to have a picnic in the lovely 
 grove on Thursday, and they may fish, row, 
 dance, or do anything else they like ; and last, 
 but not least, there will be several remarkably 
 pretty girls, whose acquaintance they will 
 make," looking persuasively at Brenner. 
 
 Nana looked up, surprised, for they had 
 planned to go to an entirely different place 
 on that day ; and Mrs. Wyse, suddenly recol- 
 lecting it, said : 
 
 "It was a pet plan of my own, and was to 
 be a surprise for you, my dear ; but you see I 
 had to tell you in order to tempt these young 
 gentlemen to stay for it." 
 
 The truth is, it was an impulsive determi- 
 nation on Mrs. Wyse's part, formed at the 
 moment of speaking. Of course, both young 
 men declared that no such inducement was
 
 180 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 necessary. They were only too glad to be 
 invited to stay. They had started out for a 
 pleasure trip, and had plenty of time to enjoy 
 everything as they went along. 
 
 They were very enthusiastic in their expres- 
 sions of admiration of the beauty of the scenery 
 as they drove around the pond the next morn- 
 ing, which was, indeed, charming. The road 
 was through lovely woods, through which 
 glimpses of its shining waters were seen all 
 the way. In one place the small trees had 
 been cut down to form a grove, and there had 
 recently been erected a building, with a small 
 hall in the second story, and some rooms below 
 fitted up for the convenience of pleasure 
 parties. 
 
 It was a gay affair that the Widow Wyse 
 had arranged for the following Thursday. The 
 young ladies were all charmed by the fair 
 young German, whose good-nature seemed 
 inexhaustible. His laugh rang out over the 
 water, as clear and joyous as a child's. In- 
 deed, he was as unlike the typical German as 
 one could possibly imagine. He had a smile 
 and a gay word for all. Only once did his
 
 ALLIANCE. 1 8 I 
 
 face become cloudy. He had tried in vain for 
 a tete-a-tete with the fair widow, and when he 
 saw her stray off with Colonel Gilroy, a man 
 whom he distrusted the first moment he saw 
 him, he could not bear it, and started off alone 
 in the opposite direction, but not until Mrs. 
 Wyse had, looking back, caught sight of his 
 face. She was not prepared to give him up, 
 and she knew better than to try him too far ; 
 50 she sauntered on a little way with the 
 gallant colonel, and managed to turn him over 
 to one of the young girls, and strayed back 
 alone, as if by accident, to where young Bren- 
 ner was sitting apart from, and out of sight of, 
 the others, with a most disconsolate look on 
 his boyish face. 
 
 "Ah, you silly boy !" she said, tapping him 
 playfully with her fan. " Do you want every- 
 body to know just how foolish you are ? " 
 
 "Ah, Julia ! " he answered, with tears in his 
 voice, " how cruel you are ! " 
 
 "No, dear," she answered, caressingly; "but 
 I cannot allow you to make me conspicuous. 
 Come, now, let us go back." And she laid her 
 white hand upon his brow, " to smoothe out 
 the wrinkles," she said.
 
 1 82 THE V/IDOW WTSE. 
 
 The ready smiles came back at that warm 
 touch, and he exclaimed, in a transport of 
 joy: 
 
 " Heart's dearest, forgive me ! You are an 
 angel, and I will never doubt you again." 
 
 " Never doubt that I am your friend, 
 August," she answered. 
 
 " My heart craves something more than 
 friendship," he said, in low, passionate tones, 
 as they started back from whence they came. 
 
 "There, now, you are beginning again," she 
 said, laughing. "Do you want to drive me off 
 with that horrid Colonel Gilroy ? Do be sen- 
 sible, and go and talk with that pretty girl in 
 blue. She looks as though she wanted to be 
 amused, and," shaking her finger at him, 
 "don't let me have to speak to you again." 
 
 He started off, obediently, making a wry face 
 as he did so. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse was indefatigable. She planned 
 entertainments for days ahead, and carried 
 them out successfully. The young men still 
 lingered. Reginald Cleveland, to be sure, 
 urged their departure, but Brenner would not 
 listen. The first of June brought Ethel and
 
 ALLIANCE. 183 
 
 Kitty, to visit Mrs. Onslow, and then Reginald 
 had no desire to go. He fell in love with the 
 dear, absurd little Kitty at once. But it was 
 a hopeless passion, for she was a happy, fun- 
 loving child only. To be sure, she was but six 
 months younger than Ethel, but there were 
 years difference in experience and feeling. 
 Lizzie Highgate, too, came home, to add to the 
 circle ; but, contrary to the expectations of the 
 girls, she was amiable and modest, and did not 
 try her peculiar fascinations upon the young 
 men. She did her part in the way of enter- 
 taining the strangers in a quiet way, very 
 unlike herself, and Ethel said, wonderingly : 
 
 "There is certainly improvement there. I 
 only hope that it may last." 
 
 Lizzie told Mrs. Wyse, who inquired for her 
 brother, that he was going to camp out with 
 Jack I^enton and two or three other college 
 fellows during the summer, and would be 
 at home but a few days during his entire 
 vacation. 
 
 The new comers were charmed with August 
 Brenner. Indeed, no one could help being. 
 He had recovered from his momentary feeling
 
 184 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 of jealousy, and was himself again bright, 
 happy, joyous. "That horrid Colonel Gilroy" 
 could not disturb him again. He gave him 
 not a moment's thought. It is very true that 
 he heard whispers now and then against the 
 fair Widow Wyse ; but they did not trouble 
 him. When she looked at him with those 
 innocent blue eyes he could not think her 
 false. She seemed as guileless as a child. 
 She was good and pure and true. She had 
 told him, not in words, but in a thousand ways, 
 that she loved him, and he would not doubt 
 her. 
 
 And Ethel and Kitty went with the tide. 
 Mrs. Onslow said, one morning, as they were 
 starting off on some excursion : 
 
 " I believe you came to visit me, young 
 ladies, but I see you only at breakfast and 
 dinner, after which you are too tired and 
 sleepy to talk." 
 
 " It will not last much longer, my dear 
 sister," said Kitty : " Nana Cleveland goes 
 to-morrow. Her cousin goes with her, as es- 
 cort. He will return immediately, and go 
 directly to the mountains, taking Mr. Brenner 
 with him."
 
 ALLIANCE. 185 
 
 " What a happy disposition your German 
 friend has," said Mrs. Onslow, who had seen 
 him several times during his calls upon her 
 guests, and was very favorably impressed by 
 him. 
 
 "Yes," answered Kitty, "he is charming, 
 and I should fall in love with him only it 
 would be useless, as he has eyes for nobody 
 but the Widow Wyse. She says his family 
 worship him." 
 
 " It is a pity they are not here to prevent 
 his making a fool of himself," said Mrs. 
 Onslow. 
 
 Kitty stared at her sister. 
 
 " What is the matter wifh you, Margaret ? 
 I never heard you speak like that before. I 
 could imagine Nana Cleveland making that 
 remark, but not you. You must be ill." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Mrs. Onslow, laugh- 
 ing, " I feel particularly well this morning. I 
 do not mean to be uncharitable, but I spoke 
 exactly as I felt." 
 
 Nana Cleveland went back to Boston, and 
 from thence to Newport. She asked the 
 Widow Wyse to visit her there; but she had
 
 1 86 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 planned to visit Nana in Boston, as it suited 
 her better, so she said: 
 
 "Don't ask me, dear; it will be such a temp- 
 tation. I have promised mamma that I will 
 go with her to a quiet place among the mount- 
 ains, and I make it a point never to disappoint 
 her. But you have made us very happy by 
 your little visit, dear Nana, and if, by any 
 chance, I find myself near your charming 
 'city by the sea,' I shall certainly look in 
 upon you, if only for an hour." Thus leaving 
 the way open for a change in her plans, if 
 she should so desire. 
 
 " My dear Ethel," said Mrs. Onslow, one 
 morning, a few days after this, "you will 
 pardon me, I am sure, for speaking plainly. 
 I do not like your intimacy with Mrs. Wyse. 
 I cannot understand why you should take such 
 an interest in her. I believe her to be un- 
 worthy your friendship, and that she is not to 
 be trusted. She uses her friends to further 
 her own ends, and I want to put you on your 
 guard with regard to her. I do not think she 
 would try to injure you, unless you stood in 
 her way ; but she would crush you under her
 
 ALLIANCE. 187 
 
 feet if she thought that she could thereby 
 raise herself in any degree." 
 
 "Thank you, dear Mrs. Onslow, for speak- 
 ing," said Ethel; "but do not fear for me. I 
 understand her thoroughly. She cannot hurt 
 me." 
 
 " But you told Kitty that you liked her " 
 
 " No, pardon me," interrupted Ethel. " I 
 said that I liked to hear her talk, and I do. 
 She amuses me. I said, also, that I knew just 
 where to find her, and I do. If she says that 
 a thing is so to-day, she will swear, by all the 
 gods, that it isrit so to-morrow. I have been 
 making a study of her, and find it remarkably 
 interesting. What a story I might write ! " 
 
 "Oh, if you are writing a book," said Mrs. 
 Onslow, laughing, " I have nothing more to 
 say. Put her in by all means. Only, as truth 
 is stranger than fiction, your readers would 
 not believe what you could say of her. I 
 hear them say now : ' What an exaggerated 
 character.' " 
 
 " If I were writing a book," said Ethel, " I 
 should not dare to put in the half I might."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 
 
 "I SHOULD think you would tire of this 
 everlasting round of gayety," said Mrs. Houl- 
 ton, one morning, as her daughter was pre- 
 paring to go out. " I do not wish to inter- 
 fere, but it seems to me that you are wasting 
 a good deal of time upon young Brenner. I 
 cannot divine your motive. You must have 
 one, for you are not in the habit of troubling 
 yourself for the benefit of other people. You 
 certainly do not want to marry him, for he 
 must be younger than you are " 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about my age, if 
 you please, mamma, or I may retaliate," said 
 the amiable Mrs. Wyse. " I don't mind telling 
 you, however, that it is quite possible that I 
 may want to marry him. It depends," she 
 added, mysteriously. 
 
 " Oh, Julia ! " said her mother. " You can- 
 not be so foolish. He is too young for you, 
 and you know nothing about him. He seems
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 189 
 
 educated and refined, but he is probably an 
 adventurer after your money." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! I positively cannot help 
 laughing. 'After my money 1 ! That is very 
 good indeed." Then after a pause, she said : 
 " I do wish, mamma, that you would allow me 
 to manage my affairs in my own way. I did 
 not spend two years abroad for nothing. 
 August Brenner belongs to a family of wealth 
 and eminence, and he is fairly worshiped at 
 home. That ought to satisfy you as far as he 
 is concerned. I married Archibald Wyse to 
 please you. I shall marry a second time to 
 please myself." 
 
 "Now, Julia," said her mother, "you are 
 very unkind. I should like to have you tell 
 me what you would have done without Archi- 
 bald Wyse's money. You certainly would 
 never have seen Germany." 
 
 " I was ungenerous," said Mrs. Wyse, see- 
 ing that her mamma was really pained. " I '11 
 take it all back, and forgive you, although I 
 don't think I should be -quite as ready to do 
 so if he had not been considerate enough to 
 make me his widow."
 
 190 
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Oh, Julia ! " said Mrs. Houlton. " It is 
 dreadful to hear you talk so. Sometimes you 
 positively shock me." 
 
 " Poor mamma," said her daughter, mock- 
 ingly. " You should be willing to let me tell 
 the truth occasionally. And, as I am in the 
 mood for it, perhaps a little more will not be 
 amiss. You have doubtless thought me very 
 penurious many times during the last two 
 years. Being the widow of the rick Archibald 
 Wyse, I ought surely to have done something 
 for my impecunious mamma." 
 
 " I am sure I have never complained," said 
 Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 "Very true, mamma," answered her daugh- 
 ter ; " but you have thought it, all the same. 
 Now I am going to give you another shock. 
 I told you one of my pretty little fibs con- 
 cerning the reason of my return home. I 
 should have remained abroad much longer 
 had I been the wealthy widow that you and 
 my friends think me. Archibald Wyse was 
 not the rich man he was represented to be, 
 and it is absolutely necessary for me to replen- 
 ish my purse. I have thought the matter over, 
 
 \
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 191 
 
 and have come to the conclusion that there 
 is no other way to do it than by marriage. If 
 you can suggest any other way, I shall be 
 infinitely obliged to you. But of one thing 
 you may be sure. If I do marry, I shall not 
 allow myself to be again deceived." 
 
 This revelation took Mrs. Houlton's breath 
 away. She could not speak. 
 
 " Poor mamma," said Mrs. Wyse. " I am 
 really sorry for you, but I am a good deal 
 sorrier for myself. Now I am going to give 
 you a hint as to what I propose to do. I met 
 Mr. Apthorpe in Paris last year, and again in 
 Boston last winter." 
 
 " Mr. Richard Apthorpe ? " said Mrs. Houl- 
 ton. " He is very talented, is he not ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Wyse, " and, what is 
 vastly more to the purpose, he is very 
 wealthy." 
 
 " But he is as old as Archibald Wyse," 
 objected Mrs. Houlton. 
 
 "It was not. Archibald Wyse's age that I 
 objected to as much as his lack of wealth," 
 said the young widow, laughing. 
 
 " But is not Mr. Richard Apthorpe pretty 
 high game for you ? " said her mother.
 
 IQ2 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " No slang, if you please, mamma," said her 
 daughter. " We must cultivate the graces to 
 the utmost. The only reason that I consented 
 to go to a quiet place with you this summer 
 was to get time to read his books. It will 
 almost kill me, but I shall do it. Thank my 
 lucky stars, I have a tolerable memory. Per- 
 haps they will disclose a weak spot to me. 
 Then my assault will be the easier. I suppose 
 you have been rather tried this summer, but 
 you have behaved beautifully, and you shall 
 not regret it ; I have only a few days more in 
 which to enjoy my flirtations with August 
 Brenner and Colonel Gilroy " 
 
 "You should have nothing whatever to do 
 with Colonel Gilroy, Julia," said Mrs. Houlton. 
 "You know that he is thoroughly unprin- 
 cipled." 
 
 " Never mind, mamma," said Mrs. Wyse ; 
 " as long as he is received into the same 
 society as ourselves it won't do to quarrel 
 with him ; but you need not be troubled ; I 
 could n't marry him, for he is as poor as a 
 church mouse. I shall not carry it too far. 
 Only just far enough to pique the charming
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 193 
 
 August. I shall prepare for a vigorous cam- 
 paign in the autumn. You think I am aiming 
 too high, but what if I win ? " 
 
 " Heaven grant that you may ! " piously 
 remarked Mrs. Houlton; "but, on the other 
 hand, what if you fail ? " 
 
 " Then," answered the fair Widow Wyse, 
 " I still have my blue-eyed August." 
 
 Poor August ! He had entered the door, 
 which had been left open, the morning being 
 very warm, and had heard every word of the 
 last part of the conversation. He would have 
 scorned to listen, but a remark from the woman 
 he loved concerning himself compelled him 
 to pause. He was so completely astonished 
 that he had not the power to move ; as she^ 
 ceased speaking, however, he gathered up his 
 strength and went noiselessly out, hardly 
 knowing or caring which way he went. He 
 walked slowly in the direction of the beautiful 
 pond, upon whose bosom he had spent so 
 many happy hours. Soon he quickened his 
 pace, and, with feverish eagerness, hurried on, 
 looking neither to the right nor to the left. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse, glancing out of the window, saw
 
 194 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 him leave the house, and, catching a glimpse of 
 his face, in which despair was plainly written, 
 turned to her mother, and said, excitedly : 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! it was August. He must 
 have heard. What shall I do ? Don't speak," 
 putting her hand to her head. " Let me 
 think." Then, after a pause, she started up, 
 saying, " Ring for Ninette. There is no time 
 to lose." 
 
 " Ninette, my hat and wrap ; and tell 
 Thomas to bring around the carriage at 
 once." 
 
 "But, my love," said the elder widow, 
 alarmed, "think what you are doing. Where 
 are you going ? " 
 
 "Don't be silly, mamma," answered her 
 daughter; "I am not going to drown myself." 
 (Was it intuition that made her say that ?) 
 " I am simply going to call upon Miss Town- 
 send ; and I want you to remember that poor 
 August was very fond of her, and that, what- 
 ever happens, I am not to blame." 
 
 Mrs. Houlton noticed that she spoke of the 
 young German in the past tense. 
 
 " It is an omen ! " she exclaimed. " Some-
 
 PLANS AND PR OJE CTS. 195 
 
 thing dreadful is going to happen. I never 
 saw Julia so excited." 
 
 " You little dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wyse, 
 enthusiastically, as Ethel came down to greet 
 her visitor. " What a charming color you 
 have ! " 
 
 Then, turning to Kitty, she went on, 
 archly : 
 
 "If our blue-eyed German could only see 
 her now he would be more distracted than 
 ever." 
 
 "Why do you say that, Mrs. Wyse," said 
 Ethel, "when you know perfectly well that it 
 is you he admires ? " , 
 
 " And you know perfectly well that it is you 
 he admires," mimicked Mrs. Wyse. "It is only 
 poor me who hears his secrets. Ah, you little 
 coquette ! you will make him do something 
 desperate yet. He has been perfectly wild 
 ever since you came." 
 
 Then she added, more seriously : 
 
 " Don't play with him, dear, for he is a nice 
 fellow, and I am very fond of him. I knew 
 him in Germany, you know." 
 
 "What nonsense you are talking!" began
 
 196 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 poor Ethel ; but Mrs. Wyse interrupted her by 
 saying : 
 
 "Now tell me all about your visit with 
 whom Nana Cleveland calls 'that delightful 
 old roaring lion/ you fortunate girl. I have 
 not had time to ask you before." 
 
 " She has well named him, Mrs. Wyse," 
 said Ethel, coldly ; " for he is the king of men, 
 as the lion is the king of beasts." 
 
 "And his brother, too, is very charming, is 
 he not ? " 
 
 This was too much. Ethel had striven to 
 be polite since her visitor's first absurd hints 
 with regard to August Brenner ; but now she 
 was ice itself, as she answered : 
 
 "Everybody was very kind to me at Mr. 
 Apthorpe's ; but I saw so little of his brother 
 that I cannot satisfy your curiosity with regard 
 to him." 
 
 The Widow Wyse saw that Ethel was in no 
 mood to be trifled with, so she began to talk 
 to Kitty. She soon took her leave, however, 
 saying, 
 
 " I see you are dressed for a drive, so I will 
 not detain you."
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 197 
 
 From Mrs. Onslow's Mrs. Wyse drove di- 
 rectly to see her dear friend, Lizzie Highgate ; 
 and, during their long, confidential chat, she 
 assured her feminine admirer that it was her 
 solemn belief that Ethel Tovvnsend was amus- 
 ing herself with poor August Brenner, who 
 was desperately in love with her. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Lizzie; "he has eyes 
 only for you. Ethel Townsend is undoubtedly 
 pretty, but she lacks your agreeable manners ; 
 and August Brenner is a young man of dis- 
 cernment." 
 
 "That shows what a perfect little goose you 
 are, Lizzie," said the agreeable Mrs. Wyse. 
 "He knows that I am his friend. I have told 
 him so many times, and he naturally confides 
 in me ; but it is only as a friend, and so you 
 may inform anybody who speaks of this matter. 
 You ought to know me better than to suppose, 
 for an instant, that I would encourage him in 
 any such foolishness were he inclined to show it, 
 which, I assure you, he is not. Please to under- 
 stand, Lizzie, once for all, that there is not a 
 particle of truth in your surmise. I have been 
 annoyed by hearing the same thing from Ethel
 
 198 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 Townsend herself ; but I understand it per- 
 fectly, coming from her, and so I have just 
 told her. It is simply a blind. But from you 
 it is different." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said poor Lizzie. " I did 
 not understand it ; and I shall take pains to 
 correct the general impression wherever I go." 
 
 This was exactly what the Widow Wyse 
 expected and desired ; and she started for 
 home, satisfied with her morning's work. 
 
 " I believe that my head aches too badly to 
 drive this morning," said Kitty, as Mrs. Wyse 
 left the house. 
 
 "Then I will not go," said Ethel; "but, 
 instead, will bathe your head and try to cure it. 
 I am a good deal of a doctor." 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Kitty. "Gertie will be dis- 
 appointed if you do not go. I shall lie down 
 for a little while, and if I can get a half -hour's 
 sleep, my head will be all right." 
 
 So they started off. 
 
 " Where shall we go, dear ? " asked Ethel of 
 the little girl. 
 
 " Wound the pond," answered she. 
 
 " ' Wound the pond ' it shall be," as she 
 gave the order to the coachman.
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 199 
 
 When they reached the woods he was told to 
 drive more slowly, that they might enjoy the 
 cool shade. Ethel descended from the carriage 
 many times to gather ferns and wild flowers, 
 which grew in abundance everywhere, for her 
 young friend. Gertrude was a bright, merry, 
 little thing, and was very fond of Ethel, who 
 thoroughly enjoyed her small companion's art- 
 less talk. She was a revelation to her. Being 
 wholly unaccustomed to children she was 
 amazed to find her so clever of speech. 
 
 " Now you must tell me which you think is 
 the prettiest view, and I will tell you which I 
 think is the prettiest," said Gertrude as they 
 drove along. 
 
 "Very well," said Ethel, amused and looking 
 eagerly about. Soon they came to an opening 
 in the woods, through which were lovely 
 glimpses of the water. 
 
 " Stop a moment, James," she said. " I think 
 it would be hard to find a finer view than 
 this." 
 
 " It is very pretty," said the child, " but I 
 think there is a prettier one." 
 
 "Drive along then," said Ethel, "and we 
 will find it." They soon began an ascent.
 
 2OO THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Now, when we get to the top of this hill," 
 said the child, confidently, "you will see it." 
 
 " You are right," said Ethel, as they reached 
 the place, " for we can not only see the water, 
 but the fields and mountain beyond." 
 
 "Yes," said Gertrude, "I knew you would 
 say so. I like that mountain. I 'should like 
 to be way up on the top of it. I could touch 
 those white clouds and I could see all over 
 the world, could n't I ? " 
 
 " Not quite so far as that, dear," answered 
 Ethel, " but I am sure you could see a great 
 distance. The view from the top must be 
 grand. But we must not linger here, or we 
 shall not be back in season for luncheon, and 
 my little girl must be hungry ; besides, these 
 pretty flowers are beginning to droop." 
 
 As they reached the bend in the road nearest 
 the pond, Ethel noticed two men leaning over 
 the prostrate form of another. She stopped 
 the carriage, fearing that something was wrong 
 and that assistance might be needed. She 
 descended from the carriage and walked quickly 
 toward the spot. One of the men, seeing her, 
 raised his hand warningly, but it was too late.
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 2OI 
 
 She gave a low cry of horror as she recognized 
 in the white, upturned face the features of 
 August Brenner. She staggered as though 
 about to fall as the man caught her and led 
 her back to the carriage just as two men 
 drove up. 
 
 "There is the doctor, miss," said the man. 
 " We have done all we could for him, but I am 
 afraid it 's of no use." 
 
 " Oh, can 't you do something, Doctor ? '' 
 said Ethel, appealing to him in agonized tones. 
 "You must do something for him ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, child, I '11 do all that mortal 
 can," said he, recognizing her as Mrs. Onslow's 
 guest. Then to the coachman : " Take her 
 home at once,'' and hurried to the drowned 
 man. 
 
 How Ethel got home she did not know. 
 She saw nothing but August Brenner's white 
 face and fixed, staring eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Onslow found her, a few minutes after 
 her return, leaning against a marble statue, 
 herself almost as white as her support. Her 
 clenched hands and wild, frightened eyes 
 alarmed her hostess. She put her arms 
 tenderly around her, saying,
 
 2O2 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " Ethel, dear, what is it ? Can't you tell 
 me ? " 
 
 Ethel made an effort to speak, but she could 
 not, ahd for the first time in her life she 
 fainted, losing consciousness entirely. 
 , The news spread like wildfire. Ninette, 
 who was out with her pets, heard of it before 
 Mrs. Wyse's return, and she met her mistress, 
 who seemed greatly excited, with red, swollen 
 eyes. He had been kind to her, and she had 
 had little enough of real kindness in her life, 
 heaven knows ! She poured forth a volume of 
 mingled French and English, and much to 
 Mrs. Wyse's discomfort ended by calling that 
 lady a murderess. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse's voice was very unsteady, as she 
 said : 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Ninette, but 
 you have been impertinent before, and I have 
 overlooked it, but I shall bear it no longer. 
 Go to your room at once and prepare to 
 leave me ! " 
 
 " Vary well, madame. I s'all find some ozer 
 place. Adieu, madame," and with a mocking 
 courtesy she left the room.
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 203 
 
 Mrs. Wyse turned to her mother and said, 
 passionately : 
 
 " To think of Ninette's proving ungrateful, 
 after all I have done for her ; but I have borne 
 too much from her, and I shall be glad to get 
 rid of her." 
 
 " But, my dear," said her more politic 
 mother, "are you wise in sending her off like 
 this ? It seems to me that it is a poor time 
 to do it. There are plenty of ladies who will 
 be glad of her services. She will have no 
 difficulty in finding another place, and she 
 knows it very well ; and you can imagine what 
 she will say of you. You know best, of 
 course, what you want to do. I only offer the 
 suggestion." 
 
 " You are right," said her daughter, wearily. 
 " If I could only send her back to Paris ; but 
 she will not go, and she will make me all the 
 trouble she can. There was never anybody 
 as hardly used as I have been." 
 
 And she burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 To tell the truth, the events of the last few 
 hours had so worn upon her nerves that she 
 could not control herself, and she fell upon the 
 sofa in violent hysterics.
 
 204 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 Mrs. Houlton ran this way and that for 
 restoratives. She was very much frightened, 
 and rang sharply for Ninette ; but no Ninette 
 appeared. She rang again and again to no 
 purpose, and she was forced to go for her. 
 She found her in her room, putting various 
 things into her boxes. 
 
 "Why do you not come when I ring for 
 you ? " demanded Mrs. Houlton, indignantly. 
 
 " I am no longer in madame's service," said 
 Ninette, proudly. 
 
 " How can you be so unfeeling when she 
 has done so much for you ? " said Mrs. Houl- 
 ton, half crying. " She is ill, dying, per- 
 haps, and I don't know what to do for her." 
 
 On hearing this, Ninette softened and ran 
 quickly down to her mistress. They loosened 
 her clothing, and rubbed her cold hands, 
 giving her cordials as soon as she was able 
 to swallow. 
 
 Mrs Wyse did not often indulge in this 
 particular kind of weakness, and Ninette was 
 frightened also. After she had fallen into an 
 uneasy slumber, Mrs. Houlton improved the 
 opportunity to say :
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 205 
 
 " You were very cruel to say what you did, 
 Ninette. You see," she went on, confiden- 
 tially, " that, being an old friend, this young 
 man's death will be very hard for her to bear. 
 And to think of your accusing her of being 
 the cause of it ! It is not true, and I cannot 
 think why you should have imagined it." 
 
 " Oh, I am vary sorry ! " said the tender- 
 hearted Ninette. "It was vary wicked. I 
 will beg madame's pardon." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Houlton ; " it will be better 
 to say nothing about it. She was so excited 
 at the time that she probably will not remem- 
 ber it, and I am sure it would make her worse 
 to bring it all back again. Do not speak of it, 
 even, and, above all things, Ninette," said the 
 wily woman, "promise me to say nothing to 
 anybody else of your foolish suspicions. It 
 would injure her a good deal if you did." 
 
 "Nevare, nevare ! " said Ninette, solemnly. 
 
 Mrs. Houlton sent the maid out of the room 
 to fetch something, when she saw signs of her 
 daughter's awakening, and whispered to her, 
 hurriedly : 
 
 " Say nothing to Ninette. Treat her as 
 usual."
 
 2O6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 And when that repentant person came back 
 and asked, tenderly, " How does madame find 
 herself ? " Mrs. Wyse answered : 
 
 "Better, thank you. You are a good girl, 
 Ninette, and I shall not forget it. You need 
 not stay now. You must be tired. Mamma 
 says that you have done everything for me. 
 You had better go out and take the air ; it 
 will do you good." 
 
 "Madame is vary kind," said Ninette, with- 
 drawing. 
 
 And so peace was made ; and a few days 
 after, Ninette might have been seen standing 
 before her little mirror, admiring herself, as 
 well as some pretty articles of jewelry which 
 her mistress had just given her. 
 
 Ethel was prostrated by a low, nervous fever, 
 the result of the shock she received on that 
 fatal day. 
 
 "What a dreadful woman!" she exclaimed, 
 in speaking of the sad event for the first time. 
 " Poor August ! he was innocent as heaven, 
 and she as false as hell." 
 
 "Don't think about it, dear," said Mrs. 
 Onslow, soothingly.
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 2OJ 
 
 But she could not help it. His love was so 
 pathetic, and his death so tragic. 
 
 "I thought I knew her," she said; "but I 
 did not. I could not conceive of a woman so 
 false, so base." 
 
 She had overheard enough of their conversa- 
 tion to understand perfectly his feelings toward 
 her, and she felt sure that her cruel deception 
 was the cause of his death. 
 
 Hearing Mr. Onslow say to his wife, "Mr. 
 Reginald Cleveland will take charge of the 
 body," she said, with quivering lips: 
 
 " How strange, how horrible, to speak of one 
 so lately full of life and joyousness, as 'the 
 body ' ! " 
 
 " It is dreadful, Margaret ! " said poor Kitty, 
 tearfully, when she found her sister alone. 
 " Do you suppose she did really care for him ? 
 I heard her moaning and sobbing in her sleep, 
 last night. She will die if she goes on so." 
 
 " I do not quite understand it, dear," an- 
 swered her sister. " I hope she will be better 
 when she gets away from this place. The 
 doctor said this morning that she must go as 
 soon as she is able to travel. You must take 
 her home, and let her have rest and quiet."
 
 2O8 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 " Kitty, dear," said Ethel, a few days later, 
 "what was said in the papers of this dread- 
 ful accident ? " 
 
 " Oh ! there were long notices of it," an- 
 swered Kitty, " and a good many surmises ; 
 but it seemed to be the general opinion that 
 he slipped from the rocks near where they 
 found him." 
 
 " Please send the papers to papa. I cannot 
 write about it, and I should like him to know," 
 said Ethel. After which the subject was 
 dropped, and not mentioned again. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse called before Ethel went away. 
 She was paler than usual, and seemed quite 
 subdued. 
 
 " How is the poor child ? " she asked of 
 Mrs. Onslow. " I am so sorry for her. It is 
 dreadful for us all, but particularly so for her. 
 May I see her ?" 
 
 " I do not tTiink that she will feel equal to 
 seeing you this morning ; but I will let her 
 know that you are here," said Mrs. Onslow, 
 leaving the room. 
 
 "Ethel, dear," she said, on reaching the 
 chamber, " Mrs. Wyse is below, and wishes to 
 see you. What shall I say to her ? "
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 209 
 
 " Oh, I cannot see her ! " said poor Ethel. 
 " and you must tell her so. Her name, even, 
 causes a feeling of suffocation here," putting 
 her hand on her heart. 
 
 It was a sad ending to her otherwise pleas- 
 ant visit ; and as she said good-by to Mrs. 
 Onslow, she felt that she should never again 
 see her in her lovely country home. 
 
 Ethel and Kitty spent two months of perfect 
 rest and quiet. Mrs. Brewster felt that they 
 had had excitement enough for the summer, 
 and she gave up all thought of entertainments 
 for them. Ethel slowly recovered her strength, 
 and as that came back, her spirits in a measure 
 returned, though she felt that she should 
 never be quite so light-hearted as she had been. 
 She had learned a lesson which she would 
 never forget. She had long talks with Mrs. 
 Brewster, who endeavored to bring her out of 
 the morbid state into which she had fallen. 
 
 " Of what are you thinking, my dear f " 
 asked Mrs. Brewster one morning, seeing a 
 far-off look in her eyes. " It is n't good for 
 a young lady to think too much." 
 
 " It would be better for ^ome of us, if we
 
 2IO THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 thought more than we do," answered Ethel. 
 " I was thinking, as you spoke, how strange it 
 was that the world should applaud what I 
 believe it should wholly condemn. Am I un- 
 charitable ? I believe some of my friends 
 think me so, but if I am, I must have had 
 wrong teaching all my life. I wish I did not 
 begin to analyze people as soon as I meet 
 them, but I cannot help it. I have been taught 
 to hate any thing low or base or false, and if 
 I detect a false note in the music of a person's 
 conversation, it shocks my moral nerves. A 
 lie is no less a lie because it has a fanciful 
 dress of words. I was taught that a lie is an 
 intention to deceive, and that a person may 
 tell a falsehood without uttering a syllable. 
 An example comes to my mind now. One 
 day last summer Mrs. Wyse gave 'Lizzie. 
 Highgate to understand by her manner that 
 a certain story was true, when she knew per- 
 fectly well that it was not. I remonstrated 
 with her, and she answered, laughing at her 
 own shrewdness : ' I am not responsible for 
 what Lizzie Highgate thinks. I did not say a 
 word.' Now, I contend that she was respon-
 
 PLANS AND PROJECTS. 2 I I 
 
 sible. That, by her manner, she deliberately 
 deceived Lizzie. She did not want her to know 
 the truth." 
 
 "Well, my dear," answered Mrs. Brewster. 
 "We must take the world as we find it, and 
 not quarrel too much with poor, weak, human 
 nature. Mrs. Wyse is a woman of the world, 
 and she has a certain pleasing manner which 
 makes her popular. It is not necessary to be 
 literally and painfully truthful, at all times. 
 We must be as charitable as possible." 
 
 " If I must say that a black lie is the white 
 truth in order to be thought charitable," said 
 Ethel, vehemently, " I would rather be thought 
 otherwise. God gave me clear, perceptive 
 faculties, good eyesight, and acute hearing. 
 Does He wish me, think you, to go through 
 the world with my eyes half closed, with 
 cotton in my ears, and my mind clouded with 
 fancies ? It is quite true, as you say, that 
 Mrs. Wyse is a woman of the world, and that 
 the world admires her and thinks her clever. 
 Heaven preserve me from ever becoming a 
 woman of the world ! " 
 
 "My dear child," said Mrs. Brewster,
 
 212 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 laughing, "you should go into the lecture 
 field. You would be invaluable to the cause 
 of universal suffrage, should you undertake to 
 advocate it." 
 
 "That is just what I was going to speak 
 about," said Ethel, eagerly: "why do not these 
 earnest women, with clear heads and strong 
 minds, take up this matter, and try to raise 
 their frail sisters to the dignity of true woman- 
 hood ? They labor and strive and agonize in 
 their endeavor to gain the right to vote. 
 What would the ballot be in the hands of 
 such a woman as the Widow Wyse ? " 
 
 "What you say is quite reasonable," said 
 Mrs. Brewster, "but are you ready to begin 
 to revolutionize the world of women ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Ethel, laughing. " I have 
 already begun, and I believe I have made one 
 convert." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Mrs. Brewster, " you 
 must allow me to say that I fear that you are 
 a little too sweeping in your denunciations. 
 To borrow your own words, 'A lie is an 
 intention to deceive.' We cannot always 
 understand motives."
 
 PLANS A ND PR OJE CTS. 213 
 
 " It would be impossible to put one's self 
 quite in another's place," said Ethel, thought- 
 fully. " Do you mean that I should say, 
 always, ' That would be a lie if I said it, but 
 from her standpoint it may be the truth ' ? Is 
 that what you call being charitable ? " 
 
 " You are incorrigible, my dear," said Mrs. 
 Brewster, laughing. 
 
 " At least I am in earnest," said Ethel. 
 " But, dear Mrs. Brewster, I cannot see the 
 justice of exaggerating the good I see, and of 
 covering with the mantle of charity the evil. 
 If I am impartial on the one hand, why should 
 I not be on the other ? I don't mean that evil 
 should be sought for, by any means, but how 
 can I help seeing what is so plainly on the 
 surface ? It is not jealousy, I am sure, which 
 prompts me to speak so. I seem to feel differ- 
 ently from most girls I meet. I have always 
 associated with older people than myself, and I 
 am not used to petty dealings. Possibly they 
 seem worse to me on that account. .Mrs. Wyse 
 said to me last June : ' What a popular girl 
 you might be if you chose,' and I- answered : 
 ' Possibly, if I would allow, myself to be all 
 things to all people.' "
 
 X 
 
 214 THE wi&ow WTSE. 
 
 " ' Oh, no ! ' " she said. " ' If you would only 
 allow people to love you.' Now, I am perfectly 
 willing to be loved," she went on, laughing, 
 "but I must be loved for what I am. I will 
 not seem to be what I am not. To quote the 
 Widow Wyse again in this connection. She 
 says that she ' would rather have the goodwill 
 of a dog than the illwill of one,' while I feel 
 prompted to say, ' I would rather that a dog, 
 even, should feel that he must offer me clean 
 paws to shake.' I have been trying to reason 
 this out lately, but I have hardly come to a 
 satisfactory conclusion concerning it." 
 
 " Don't try any more now, dear," said Mrs. 
 Brewster, seeing that she looked pale and tired, 
 " but go out for a drive. It will do you good. 
 The carriage is at the door and Kitty is just 
 coming down."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AT NEWPORT. 
 
 IN September Ethel went to Newport to 
 visit the Apthorpes. What a change from the 
 quiet of the country. In the picturesqueness 
 of its scenery, its attractive exclusiveness, its 
 deliciously green lawns, its wealth of flowers 
 and vines, the bewildering brilliancy of the 
 scenes along the fashionable drive, to say 
 nothing of the architectural beauty of its 
 buildings, this charming " city by the sea '' 
 stands unrivaled. How many times Ethel 
 exclaimed during her too brief stay, " It is 
 the loveliest place in the world ! " 
 
 She was necessarily quiet, for she had not 
 fully recovered her strength. Her friends were 
 very careful of her, but she took long, delight- 
 ful drives, and it was like a glimpse of paradise 
 to sit on the broad piazza and listen with a 
 strange, intense delight to the music of the 
 voice which sang in her heart and brain long 
 after its owner had left her alone.
 
 2l6 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "You have been ill," he would say, "and you 
 must let me amuse you. I have nothing else 
 to do." His voice took a tenderer tone when 
 addressing her. Was it only because she had 
 been ill, or did he really care ? 
 
 Ah, Gerald Apthorpe, take care ! Do you 
 know that you are playing upon heartstrings? 
 Touch that sweetly-tuned instrument softly. 
 Those are not cold wires you are sweeping your 
 hand across, but quivering nerves that are 
 sensitive only to your touch. Lightly, my dear 
 fellow, lest you shatter that delicate organ, and 
 stain your white hand with the life-blood that 
 runs only for you ! 
 
 This every-day association was very danger- 
 ous to Ethel's peace of mind. The time flew 
 by on swift wings. She had been too happy. 
 The last day had come. 
 
 "Well," said Gerald, cheerfully, "this is your 
 last day. I hope you are feeling quite strong 
 and well again." How her heart sank. What 
 a delusive dream it had all been. 
 
 The Widow Wyse made a hasty trip to 
 Newport. She said to her mother before 
 she set out:
 
 AT NEWPORT. 21? 
 
 " Ethel Townsend dislikes me, and I am 
 afraid of her. She is too good for this wicked 
 world. It is a pity that her wings should not 
 grow a little faster. I am sure that I, for one, 
 could spare her without a sigh. She has too 
 much influence altogether with the Apthorpes 
 to suit my purposes. I must try to weaken it." 
 
 " But how can you do that ? " asked Mrs. 
 Houlton. " Do be careful, Julia ; remember" 
 
 " Let b)^ones be bygones, if you please, 
 mamma," said her daughter. " I acknowledge 
 myself human. I sometimes make mistakes, 
 but I know what I am doing now." 
 
 She arrived at the Ocean House at night, 
 and the next day she took a carriage at the 
 fashionable hour for driving in order to recon- 
 noitre, taking care to be veiled so as not to be 
 recognized. She peered eagerly into every 
 carriage she passed, and soon sank back as if 
 wishing to be unnoticed as Mr. Apthorpe's 
 black horses dashed by. The carriage con- 
 tained Major Apthorpe, his sister, and Ethel. 
 Mrs. Wyse gave an order to her coachman, 
 who drove rapidly to Mr. Apthorpe's house. 
 Fortune favored her. He was at home.
 
 2l8 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 " I came, Mr. Apthorpe," she said, in a low, 
 
 sympathetic voice, " to see poor, little Ethel, 
 
 or, at least, to hear from her. How is she ? " 
 
 "Much better," he answered. "She has 
 
 nearly recovered. She has been quite ill." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she said. "I know all about 
 that unfortunate affair. It was a dreadful 
 shock to her. It was hard for all of us, but 
 particularly so for her. I don't think she 
 cared for him, but he was terribly in earnest, 
 and she liked him so much that he was 
 deceived, and when he found " 
 
 " What on earth are you talking about, Mrs. 
 Wyse ? " interrupted Mr. Apthorpe. " I don't 
 understand, in the least, what you mean. 
 Who was this young man, and what had he 
 to do with Ethel ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't you know?" said Mrs. Wyse 
 with well-assumed surprise. " I thought you 
 knew. Of course I ought not to speak if she 
 has kept it from you. She would not like it. 
 She used to be very fond of me, but since this 
 dreadful event " 
 
 " I must insist upon your explaining, Mrs. 
 Wyse," said Mr. Apthorpe, losing patience.
 
 A T NE WPORT. 2 1 9 
 
 " It was poor August Brenner, who was 
 drowned. Oh, I don't know how to tell you ! " 
 and Mrs. Wyse put her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Do you mean young Cleveland's German 
 friend ? " asked Mr. Apthorpe. " I read about 
 it at the time. Do you mean to tell me that 
 the young man drowned himself committed 
 suicide, on Ethel's account ? " he asked, with 
 cruel distinctness. 
 
 " Oh, don't put it in that way ! " she pro- 
 tested. "It is too dreadful. He slipped in 
 perhaps but Ethel is so tender-hearted. I 
 am sure she did not intend any harm, but I 
 suppose she thought that she might have 
 unconsciously encouraged him." 
 
 " If you mean to tell me that Ethel Town- 
 send encouraged, and then deliberately jilted, 
 any young man, all I can say is I don't believe 
 it ! " he answered, with warmth. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Apthorpe!" she said, appealingly, 
 " I am sure I did not say that. I did not mean 
 it ; I love Ethel, and would do anything in my 
 power to make her happy," and her blue eyes 
 filled with tears.
 
 22O THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "Well, well ! " said Mr. Apthorpe, softening, 
 " perhaps you did not. I love Ethel, too, and 
 what you said excited me. I beg your pardon." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Apthorpe," said the fair 
 widow, " I am so sorry for this. I feel very 
 much to blame, but how could I know ? Pray, 
 do not tell Ethel that I have spoken about the 
 matter. I naturally thought you would know 
 about the cause of her illness, and with the 
 best of motives came to inquire about her. 
 Do not tell her that I have been here, even. 
 It might do harm. Promise me that you 
 will not, Mr. Apthorpe, or I shall be very 
 unhappy." 
 
 " No, I will not," he answered, and she left 
 him a little in doubt as to whether she had 
 done her cause any good. She had to leave it, 
 she profanely said, " In the hands of Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 Mr. Apthorpe said nothing to Ethel, but he 
 told his sister what Mrs. Wyse had told him, 
 but he expressed doubts as to its truthfulness, 
 although it was very evident that his informant 
 believed it he said, and he ended by saying, 
 decidedly :
 
 AT NE WPORT. 221 
 
 " Of course you will say nothing to Ethel 
 about it, and, above all things, say nothing to 
 Jed. It might influence him." 
 
 And Gerald Apthorpe moved gently away 
 from the door he was about to enter, saying to 
 himself, 
 
 "So that is their pet plan. That Dick, of 
 all men, should turn matchmaker. How I 
 should like to laugh at him. Poor little 
 Ethel ! I wonder if it is true."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 THERE was a dull, heavy pain in Ethel's heart 
 as she left her kind friends for Madam Leonard's. 
 She had now no doubt as to the extent of her 
 folly, for every heartbeat said " Gerald, Gerald, 
 Gerald." She had been cast out of paradise. 
 Everything seemed wanting. 
 
 " Why could I not have heeded the warning 
 that was given me ? " she said. Yet she did 
 not blame him. She did not believe that he 
 was the coldly selfish being that he had been 
 represented. She simply felt that he could not 
 care for her. She cared for nothing, not even 
 her father. She might have been cast upon 
 a desert island for all the sympathy she had 
 for those around her. She longed to hide 
 herself from everybody, and she had almost 
 resolved to write and beg her father to come, 
 and take her away, when something occurred to 
 make her forget herself and her troubles for 
 the time being. What it was the reader will
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 22$ 
 
 learn in the following letter, addressed to her 
 father : 
 
 " MY DEAR PAPA, Something dreadful has 
 happened. The house is shaken to its very 
 centre. Madam Leonard is ill, and has taken 
 her bed. Miss Carpenter goes about the house 
 like a madwoman, and Miss Eliza looks white 
 and horror-stricken. Everybody seems to 
 have lost her wits, and my own hand trembles, 
 as you can see. I hear you ask, ' What is it 
 all about ? ' You would never guess, so I must 
 tell you, but prepare to be shocked. Lizzie 
 Highgate eloped from the house last night with 
 Jack Fenton. Our Jack ! Only think of it ! 
 And the sly girl pretended that she did not 
 know him. Her roommate found a note in 
 one of her books, addressed to Madam Leon- 
 ard this morning, which said that before she 
 should receive it they would be married and far 
 away. Everything had been planned with the 
 greatest care. Her trunks had been packed and 
 left so that they might be sent, without trouble, 
 to her home. She deceived her roommate by 
 saying that her mamma was ill, and that she
 
 224 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 was going to put a few things into her trunk 
 fearing that she might be sent for in haste. 
 She had put in everything she had, excepting 
 the few things she took with her. She must 
 have thrown her hat, wrap, and satchel out of 
 the window, for the servants say that she did 
 not have them with her when she passed 
 through the kitchen and out of the back door. 
 They supposed that she returned to the house 
 by another way. Poor Jack ! How could he 
 be so foolish ? He will never be able to respect 
 himself, or her. It was his third year in col- 
 lege, and he might have graduated with honor. 
 Why could he not have waited and married in 
 a respectable kind of way. I do not believe 
 that her family would have tried to prevent it, 
 for Jack is not a young man to be easily 
 refused. But I understand^the matter perfectly. 
 It was wholly Lizzie's affair. She could not 
 afford to wait. She was too much afraid of 
 being found out. She cannot control her 
 temper, and she is very well aware of it. I am 
 too much disgusted just now to pity Jack as 
 much as he deserves, but poor, dear, refined Mrs. 
 Fenton. It will be a terrible blow to her, for
 
 BA CK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 22$ 
 
 she idolizes Jack. I know she will try to love 
 his wife, but how can she ? If she were more 
 teachable I am sure so much gentleness and 
 refinement would have a softening effect upon 
 her, but I am very much afraid that Lizzie's 
 vulgar ideas of money, her tawdriness and 
 slatternly ways, will he a sore trial to her mother- 
 in-law. I understand now those mysterious 
 visits to the country during vacations. I shall 
 write again soon. Dear papa, how I wish I 
 were with you. 
 
 "Your loving 
 
 " TEDDY." 
 
 Ethel, as I have said, forgot herself in the 
 general excitement. And it really was a 
 benefit to her. After a few days the girls 
 settled down to their books. Madam Leonard 
 appeared once more among them, and feeling 
 that some reference must be made to Lizzie's 
 flight, said : 
 
 " Young ladies, you all know of the disgrace 
 that Miss Highgate has brought upon herself 
 and upon this house, and I only speak of it to 
 ask you not to discuss it among yourselves, but
 
 226 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 to forget it as soon as possible. She is not 
 worthy of your thoughts." 
 
 Ethel applied herself more closely to her 
 studies than ever, and the time went slowly 
 by until another Thanksgiving day arrived. 
 It was just a year since her first visit to 
 Boston. How much had happened since then ! 
 How old she felt. She went home with Kitty, 
 and divided the time between the Brewsters 
 and the Apthorpes. She soon learned that 
 the Widow Wyse was in Boston. 
 
 Her mother had said before she left her : 
 " I am afraid you are going to be disappointed, 
 Julia. You know that Boston does not open 
 its arms to strangers readily, and you have few 
 acquaintances there." 
 
 " You forget, my dear mamma, that instead 
 of stopping at a hotel, as I have generally 
 done, I am to visit Nana Cleveland. You 
 don't half know your daughter. Sometimes she 
 sees years ahead. Do you remember calling 
 me foolishly impulsive because I interested 
 myself in a poor lecturer a few years ago ? Do 
 you know why I did it ? No ? Well, I will 
 tell you. As I was coming home from Madam
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 227 
 
 Leonard's, one vacation, I overheard Professor 
 Seamore, a man of letters, and a severe critic, 
 say (he was sitting in front of me with another 
 gentleman) that Mr. Follansbee was sure to 
 make his mark, and that, within a short 
 time, men of culture would be proud to 
 acknowledge him as a friend. Chance threw 
 him in my way. You know what I did. It 
 was very little. I simply talked him up. 
 Wrote, asking him to give a course of lectures. 
 The girls sold the tickets and he had a fine 
 audience. I bought a ticket and went to one 
 of the lectures, during which you had to 
 pinch me to keep me awake, if you remember, 
 and I was ill or out of town during the others ; 
 but he was very grateful to me, all the same. 
 I have a letter upstairs, in which he pours 
 forth volumes of gratitude, and says that, if he 
 can ever serve me in any way, he shall be 
 glad and proud to do it. He was poor and 
 dependent then : now he has influence among 
 people whom I wish to know, and I purpose to 
 let him serve me." 
 
 "Julia," said Mrs. Houlton, admiringly, "I 
 will never attempt to give you advice again.
 
 228 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 You are thoroughly capable of taking care of 
 yourself." 
 
 Attentions were showered upon her through 
 the influence of Nana Cleveland and Mr Fol- 
 lansbee, and Mrs. Houlton took infinite pains 
 to inform the social world of Alliance that dear 
 Julia was "quite the rage in Boston." 
 
 "You as are changeable as a chameleon, Mrs 
 Wyse," said Mr. Apthorpe, one evening, as 
 they met at an art reception, and the fair 
 widow was fluttering from one to another. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Apthorpe, don't say that," she 
 answered. " I am as steadfast as the sun. 
 The fact is," she went on, with pretty hes- 
 itancy, and a flash of her white teeth, " I am 
 dreadfully afraid of you, and don't do myself 
 justice. I have been intensely interested in 
 your writings, but I find such soarings into 
 the clouds, such divings into the very depths, 
 that I get lost in trying to follow you. Still, 
 knowing a little, I find myself desiring to know 
 more, and to understand better, and I come to 
 you with ' Explain, explain ! ' upon my lips. 
 'Come down to my poor comprehension,' but, 
 before I can gain courage to speak, you 
 you "
 
 BA CK TO MADAM LE ONAR& S. 229 
 
 " Oh, I growl, I suppose," he said, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " she answered, eagerly. " You 
 do growl at me, only I never should have dared 
 to say so." 
 
 And Ethel, looking on from a distance, said 
 bitterly to herself : 
 
 " Is it possible that this man of learning, 
 wit, talents, everything that goes to make up 
 what the world acknowledges a superior in all 
 respects, should take pleasure in listening to 
 that shallow woman's flattery. It cannot 
 be!" 
 
 Kitty was intensely amused. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, approaching 
 Ethel, "that the Widow Wyse is making eyes 
 at your Mr. Apthorpe ? " 
 
 " I know that she is trying to make a good 
 impression upon him, and I am afraid she has 
 succeeded," said Ethel. 
 
 " If she should succeed in capturing him, a 
 pretty life he would lead her after he found 
 her out," said Kitty, laughing. 
 
 " You don't say that you think she wants 
 to marry him," said Ethel, aghast. "How 
 perfectly absurd."
 
 230 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 "Absurd or not," answered Kitty, "it is 
 precisely what she is aiming at. I don't know 
 where your eyes have been that you have not 
 seen what is plain to everybody." 
 
 Ethel's face was a study. This was what 
 she had never dreamed of. 
 
 "She shall not deceive him!" she said 
 fiercely to herself. " I will speak first. It 
 will be my duty to expose her." 
 
 Then a flush of shame swept over her, at the 
 thought of speaking against anybody, even the 
 Widow Wyse. What right had she to preju- 
 dice anybody against her ? Mr. Apthorpe could 
 surely look out for himself. She made up her 
 mind to wait, and if she found that what Kitty 
 had said was really true, and that he was blind 
 to her defects why, then ! he should have 
 a hint, if no more. 
 
 " Her soul is not large enough to appreciate 
 him," she thought, indignantly. " An eminent 
 writer says : ' The meanest nature can com- 
 prehend the evil in which it shares, but it 
 requires, to judge a lofty one, to be on a level 
 with it. Only Alp can talk to Alp.' How can 
 that poor little molehill talk to this grand, 
 mighty Alp ? "
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 23 I 
 
 She was lost in thought when Mr. Apthorpe, 
 making his way to where she stood, silent and 
 alone, said to her, in a low tone : 
 
 "That's right, dear. When you have that 
 look, I know just what you are doing. I am 
 sure that that is not a look of admiration you 
 are casting upon the Widow Wyse. You are 
 dissecting her at this moment, taking her to 
 pieces, unjointing her members, taking out her 
 heart " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " interrupted Ethel at this point, 
 " I was only trying to find if she has one. I 
 am inclined to think that she has, and that it 
 is in a petrified condition, so I have to work 
 carefully, so as not to spoil my fine instru- 
 ments." 
 
 Mr. Apthorpe laughed ; then he said, more 
 seriously: 
 
 " Beware of her, my dear ; she seems 
 amiable, but she has a well-filled quiver at her 
 back. Her arrows are pretty things to look at, 
 daintily covered and ornamented, but they are 
 pointed with steel and dipped in the poisonous 
 saliva which moistens her tongue." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad you can read her," said
 
 232 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 Ethel. " I did n't want to speak, but I felt 
 that I must." 
 
 " I am very sorry you should think me dull," 
 he answered, dryly. The absurdity of which 
 remark made Ethel laugh again. 
 
 " Ethel, dear," said Mrs. Wyse, fluttering up 
 to her at this moment, " I have been looking 
 for you everywhere, to tell you that Nana is to 
 have a reading at her house to-morrow after- 
 noon at four. There are to be only a few 
 people, and each one is to recite something 
 from his or her favorite poet." 
 
 She saw refusal in Ethel's face, and she went 
 on, persuasively : 
 
 " You must come, dear, for we cannot get 
 along without you. I am sure it will be 
 pleasant, as it is to be like those we had last 
 summer in Alliance, which we enjoyed so 
 much." 
 
 " How can she refer, in the remotest degree, 
 to the events of the summer ? " thought 
 Ethel, who changed her mind suddenly, and 
 answered : 
 
 " Thank you, I shall be very happy." 
 
 "You dear girl," said Mrs. Wyse, effusively,
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 233 
 
 " and you will be prepared to recite something, 
 I am sure ; and Mr. Apthorpe, too, if he will 
 honor us so much," she said, beaming upon 
 him. " I am sure you will be amply repaid by 
 listening to Ethel's exquisite voice." 
 
 " Yes," answered Ethel, quickly, giving him 
 a meaning look. " I should like to have Mr. 
 Apthorpe there- He has never heard me 
 read, even." 
 
 "What assurance," thought Mrs. Wyse. 
 However, she was thankful for his ready 
 acceptance, and said : 
 
 " How perfectly charming to have you both. 
 I am sure that Nana will be as much delighted 
 as I am." 
 
 A celebrated elocutionist first recited a gem 
 from Longfellow, and sat down amid great 
 applause. Then, as if for contrast, Ethel 
 thought, the Widow Wyse, who was the 
 moving spirit of the affair, called upon Miss 
 Townsend. She looked unusually pale, and 
 the widow said to herself : 
 
 " She is nervous ; she will break down, and 
 serve her right, too. It will teach her to be 
 less confident."
 
 234 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 But there was no sign of tremor in Ethel's 
 voice as she rose and said : 
 
 " I will recite ' The Well's Secret,' by John 
 Boyle O'Reilly." 
 
 She began, and in a light, joyous manner 
 recited the first two verses: 
 
 '"I knew it all my boyhood; in a lonesome valley 
 
 meadow, 
 Like a dryad's mirror hidden by the wood's dim arches 
 
 near: 
 Its eye flashed back the sunshine, and grew dark and 
 
 sad with shadow, 
 
 And I loved its truthful depths, where every pebble lay 
 so clear. 
 
 " ' I scooped my hand and drank it, and watched the 
 
 sensate quiver 
 Of the rippling rings of silver, as the drops of crystal 
 
 fell; 
 
 I pressed the richer grasses from its little trickling river, 
 Till at last I knew, as friends know, every secret of the 
 well.'" 
 
 Then her tone and look changed to surprise, 
 which deepened, and finally turned to horror, 
 as she finished the next two verses, with her 
 eyes fixed upon the Widow Wyse :
 
 BA CK TO MA DA M LE ONARD'S. 235 
 
 " ' But one day I stood beside it, on a sudden, unex- 
 pected, 
 When the sun had crossed the valley, and a shadow hid 
 
 the place : 
 And I looked in the dark waters, saw my pallid cheek 
 
 reflected, 
 
 And beside it, looking upward, met an evil, reptile 
 face: 
 
 "'Looking upward, furtive, startled at the silent, swift 
 
 intrusion : 
 Then it darted toward the grasses, and I saw not where 
 
 it fled ; 
 But I knew its eyes were on me, and the oldtime sweet 
 
 illusion 
 
 Of the pure and perfect symbol I had cherished there 
 was dead.' " 
 
 Mrs. Wyse shuddered, and seemed to shrink 
 within herself as Ethel went on, with clasped 
 hands and a tone and look of inexpressible 
 sadness : 
 
 " ' Oh ! the pain to know the perjury of seeming truth 
 
 that blesses! 
 My soul was seared like sin to see the falsehood of the 
 
 place 
 And the innocence that mocked me ; while in dim, unseen 
 
 recesses, 
 
 There were lurking fouler secrets than the furtive, 
 reptile face.
 
 236 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " * And since then ah! why the burden? When the 
 
 joyous faces greet me. 
 With eyes of limpid innocence, and words devoid of 
 
 art, 
 I cannot trust their seeming, but must ask what eyes 
 
 would meet me 
 
 Could I look in sudden silence at the secrets of the 
 heart? 1 " 
 
 There was no applause. Everybody was 
 hushed to silence. After a moment Mrs. 
 Wyse said, with a little, uneasy laugh : 
 
 "That was almost too realistic, Miss Town- 
 send. You looked as though you saw the 
 serpent." 
 
 "I did," said Ethel, turning her dark eyes 
 once more upon the Widow Wyse; "and I 
 saw, too, the soul it had lured to destruction." 
 
 There was a painful silence, and all felt 
 relieved when Nana came to Mrs. Wyse's 
 rescue with a lighter selection. But the fair 
 widow was beginning to feel that she was 
 playing a losing game. She knew that Ethel 
 Townsend thoroughly understood her ; but she 
 had hoped for silence on her part. Her re- 
 sources were infinite. She was, to all appear-
 
 BACK TO MADAM LEONARDOS. 237 
 
 ances, an enthusiastic, impulsive creature, with 
 the kindest possible heart; but her schemes 
 were deeply laid, and often successfully carried 
 out. She would tell a deliberate falsehood 
 with such a charmingly innocent air that no 
 one who was a stranger to her could doubt its 
 complete truthfulness.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FAREWELL TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 
 
 AFTER her return to Madam Leonard's, 
 Ethel dragged on a few weeks, and then, in 
 sheer desperation, wrote to her father, begging 
 him to come to her. 
 
 " I cannot stay here any longer, dear papa," 
 she said ; " I feel so miserably ill and unhappy. 
 You must come and take me away." 
 
 " Poor little Teddy ! " he said, compassion- 
 ately ; " I had no idea that she was especially 
 fond of Jack. Foolish fellow ! he deserves his 
 fate, however bad it may be." 
 
 He telegraphed for a passage home, and 
 traveled day and night to reach the port in 
 season for it ; but before he embarked he 
 cabled a dispatch to his daughter, that she 
 might not be in doubt as to his response to her 
 appeal. 
 
 He had a quick passage, and hurried at 
 once to Madam Leonard's. He was troubled 
 to find Ethel looking so pale and thin ; and
 
 FAREWELL TO MADAM LEONARDOS. 239 
 
 after making his arrangements to take her 
 away, he left for Mobile, taking Dido and the 
 solemn Dumps back to their Southern home. 
 His business there was hastily dispatched, and 
 he came back to his daughter, who would have 
 started at once for New York could she have 
 had her own way ; but she did not propose it, 
 for she could give no satisfactory reason for 
 not calling upon the friends who had been, so 
 kind to her. 
 
 " I met my old friend, Dick Apthorpe, in 
 Boston, my dear," said her father, " and prom- 
 ised to spend the night with him. We will go 
 directly there ; and some time during the day 
 we will pay a visit to your kind friends, the 
 Brewsters. I feel very grateful to them, and 
 hope some time to be able to make some 
 return. I only wish that your friend Kitty 
 might accompany us now." 
 
 But Ethel did not echo the wish. She only 
 wanted to be alone with her father, and away 
 from all her old friends. It was necessary for 
 her to forget. She did not dare to think of 
 her visit to the Apthorpes, for she felt that it 
 would be utterly impossible to say good-by to 
 Gerald without betraying herself.
 
 240 THE WIDOW WTSB. 
 
 It was hard to say good-by to Kitty, who 
 was almost inconsolable. 
 
 " Why did you come if you must go away so 
 soon ? " said the weeping girl. And Ethel said 
 to herself : 
 
 "Alas! why did I?" 
 
 Happily for her, Major Apthorpe was away. 
 On learning this, Ethel tried to throw off her 
 depression, and she succeeded in a degree. It 
 was hard parting from Mr. Apthorpe. She had 
 wound herself so completely around his heart 
 that he felt that she belonged to him. 
 
 " Hang it, Ned," he said, dashing the tears 
 from his eyes, " I am as fond of Ethel as you 
 are. Why must you take her away ? I could 
 almost wish I had never seen her." 
 
 He was as savage as a bear for the next few 
 days. 
 
 When Major Apthorpe returned and learned 
 of Ethel's departure, he experienced a feeling 
 of disappointment, an odd sense of loss that he 
 could hardly understand. 
 
 " I thought she was to stay with Madam 
 Leonard through the year. What is the cause 
 of her sudden departure ? " he asked his sister. 
 "I am sorry to have missed seeing her."
 
 FAREWELL TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 24! 
 
 "It was a great surprise to us," answered 
 Mrs. Amesbury. "Her father came home 
 unexpectedly, and finding her far from well, 
 decided to take her abroad at once. Dick is 
 greatly disappointed. His rheumatism is worse 
 than ever." 
 
 Gerald smiled. This convenient rheumatism 
 often occasioned a smile between the sister and 
 younger brother. Gerald found his brother 
 in one of his " moods," and accosted him with : 
 
 " Well, old fellow, how are you ? Eleanor 
 says that you have a touch of rheumatism. 
 Can I do anything for you?" 
 
 " Thank you, for nothing," growled Mr. 
 Apthorpe. " I should like to know how the 
 devil you always manage to be away when I 
 want you most ? I particularly wanted you to 
 meet Dr. Townsend. You said you would be 
 home last week." 
 
 " Oh, come, now," answered Gerald good- 
 naturedly, " don't bite my head off. How was 
 I to know that you wanted me ? I '11 go and 
 bring them back by force if you say so." 
 
 Mr. Apthorpe smiled, a little grimly, it is 
 true, but he could not long withstand his
 
 2 4 2 
 
 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 favorite brother's sunny nature and they were 
 soon discussing matters of interest to them 
 both, when suddenly Richard Apthorpe turned 
 to his brother and said, abruptly : 
 
 " Well, Jed, what do you think of Ethel 
 Town send ? " 
 
 " Everything that is pleasant," he answered. 
 " I told Eleanor just now that I could not 
 remember meeting a more charming young 
 lady." 
 
 " I don't think you can," said the elder 
 brother, with unnecessary vehemence, " and 
 what is more I don't think you ever will." 
 
 " Poor girl," said Gerald softly. " I hope she 
 may be able to forget, in time, her grief, or 
 remorse, whichever it may be." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked his brother, 
 sharply. "What absurd story have you 
 heard ? " 
 
 " I heard," said Gerald, smiling a little sadly, 
 " what you said to Eleanor on the subject, at 
 Newport." 
 
 " I do not believe the story," said Mr. Ap- 
 thorpe, earnestly, " and you should not. I 
 believe it was made out of whole cloth by that 
 infernal mischief-maker, the Widow Wyse."
 
 FAREWELL TO MADAM LEONARD'S. 243 
 
 " Do you know the cause of her illness ? " 
 queried Gerald, pointedly. 
 
 "How should I know?" burst forth his 
 brother. " Good heavens ! You seem to think 
 - you and the Widow Wyse that a young 
 girl can't be ill without being able to trace 
 back the cause to some silly love affair." 
 
 " At all events," answered Gerald, " she 
 does not care for me, so, my dear brother, put 
 that idea out of your mind, and we will say no 
 more about it." 
 
 He -had a little time at his disposal, and, 
 strange to say, he did not know what to do 
 with it. It was strange how he missed Ethel. 
 She fairly haunted him. If she had been at 
 Madam Leonard's, he probably would not 
 have thought of her. He strayed down town 
 and into a picture-gallery. There was a fine 
 portrait of a young girl, by a celebrated artist, 
 before him, and he fell to criticizing it and com- 
 paring it with Ethel, and his verdict was very 
 much in the latter's favor. He remembered 
 the exact curve of the golden-brown eyelash. 
 The exact tint of the soft flush of the fair, 
 young cheek. The exact shape of the graceful,
 
 244 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 willowy form. Yet he was not in love with 
 her. He took pains to assure himself of this 
 fact. Oh, no ! He admired her, it is true, 
 and he wished there were more like her. The 
 world would be better, brighter, fairer that 
 was all.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TRYING TO FORGET. 
 
 DOCTOR TOWNSEND took Ethel directly to 
 Nice, where he determined to stay until she 
 was stronger, when they would travel about, 
 in the hope of taking up her mind and restor- 
 ing her spirits. 
 
 " Don't ask me any questions, papa," she 
 had said to him. " I shall tell you all about 
 it some time, but not now." And he had 
 respected her wish. She grew happier and 
 more like herself as the weeks went by. Her 
 father was so tender and so devoted to her 
 that she felt that, since other love was denied 
 her, he should have all that she could give him. 
 He was the best guide that she could have had. 
 In the first place, he knew perfectly his daugh- 
 ter's tastes. Then he was thoroughly familiar 
 with the places they visited, and he had de- 
 lightful and influential friends everywhere. 
 Ethel knew that she ought to be happy, but 
 she felt that fate had been strangely cruel to
 
 246 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 her in throwing her into the society of the only 
 man who had the power to spoil her life. 
 They went to Paris, intending to spend some 
 weeks, but on the second day her father came 
 in hurriedly, and told her that she must pre- 
 pare to leave for Ecouen that afternoon. 
 
 Ethel demurred, and was disposed to ask 
 questions, but her father silenced her by saying 
 that there was a young American artist with 
 whom he had business, staying there, and it 
 was absolutely necessary for them to go. He 
 was so unlike himself that her curiosity was 
 greatly excited. He did not want her to leave 
 the house, but she said : 
 
 " I must, papa. You know that I have 
 made an engagement with some of your 
 friends to drive this morning. You desired 
 me to go, and I cannot well excuse myself 
 now." 
 
 He let her go reluctantly, and looked at her 
 curiously when she came back. She saw that 
 he did not wish to be questioned, so she was 
 silent, but she wondered greatly what whim 
 had seized him. He was uneasy until they 
 started, when he seemed like himself again,
 
 TRTING TO FORGET. 247 
 
 but Ethel noticed that he talked rather more 
 rapidly than usual, as if he still feared ques- 
 tions. He entertained her with anecdotes 
 and stories all the way. Her mind was so 
 taken up with his unusual manner that she 
 forgot everything else, but the next morning 
 she recalled the pleasant drive of the day 
 before, and she said, suddenly : 
 
 "Papa, whom do you suppose I met during 
 my drive, yesterday ? You would never be 
 able to guess, so -I will tell you. It was our 
 runaways, Jack Fenton and his wife. I was 
 glad to notice that they looked a little shame- 
 faced as they recognized me. How queerly you 
 look at me, papa. Do tell me what it is ; I 
 never knew you to act so strangely before." 
 
 "Oh, it is nothing," he answered, with an 
 uneasy laugh. " I knew they were in Paris, 
 but I thought you would not care to meet 
 them, so I " 
 
 "So you did not say anything about it," 
 finished Ethel. " Well, I think you might 
 have told me. I don't object to meeting them 
 at all. Why should I ? Of course I dis- 
 approved of their running off in that indecent
 
 248 THE WIDOW WYSE. 
 
 manner, and I did n't like Lizzie, but I 
 could n't cut such old friends as the Fentons. 
 Why, Jack has always seemed like a brother 
 to me. You would not want me to refuse to 
 notice them, would you ? " 
 
 "No; oh, no!" he answered; "but I 
 thought " 
 
 " Thought what, papa ? Do tell me what 
 you thought ! " 
 
 "Why," said poor Dr. Townsend, "I 
 thought that you were fond of Jack"- 
 
 " And so I am," said Ethel. " I have just 
 told you so." 
 
 " But I thought you cared so much that this 
 marriage " 
 
 " You thought I was in love with poor old 
 Jack ! " said Ethel, understanding for the first 
 time the cause of her father's uneasiness. 
 " And so you hurried me off to this little 
 place for fear I should meet him. Oh, you 
 foolish papa ! that is really too good ! " and 
 she went off into peals of laughter which 
 did his heart good to hear. He had not heard 
 her laugh since she left her Southern home for 
 Madam Leonard's.
 
 TRYING TO FORGET. 249 
 
 " I did n't think you could tell such an awful 
 fib. Where is your artist with whom you 
 have business?" she asked. 
 
 " It was no fib at all, my dear. I saw him 
 this morning, but the business was more im- 
 portant to him than to me, as he wanted me 
 to let him have some money ; " and they were 
 very merry the rest of the day. 
 
 "To tell the truth, papa, I was very much 
 disappointed in Jack. I wanted him for Kitty ; 
 it would have been such a suitable match in 
 every way. Ah!" she went on, with a sigh, 
 "I shall never try my hand at matchmaking 
 again." Then, after a pause, she said, mis- 
 chievously : " So you are called ' the handsome 
 American,' in Dresden ?" 
 
 " Who has been talking nonsense to you, 
 my dear?" answered Dr. Townsend. 
 
 " The Widow Wyse," replied Ethel. " Why 
 have you not spoken of her ? I want to know 
 how she struck you." 
 
 " She did n't strike me," said her father, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! but she tried to, I am sure of it," said 
 Ethel. " You are actually blushing. Come,
 
 250 
 
 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 now, confess that she tried to fascinate you, 
 and that I have had a narrow escape from a 
 step-mother." 
 
 " How absurd ! " answered her father. 
 "Why should a pretty young woman try to 
 fascinate an old fellow like me ? " 
 
 " I shall not allow you to call my papa 
 names," said Ethel, with mock severity. 
 " What will you say when I tell you that this 
 ' pretty young woman ' tried all her arts upon 
 your dear friend in Boston last winter ? " 
 
 " What ! not Dick Apthorpe ? You can't 
 mean him, surely!" said her father, laughing 
 heartily at the idea. '' A pretty life he would 
 lead her after he found her out ! " 
 
 Ethel clapped her hands. 
 
 "That is precisely what Kitty said," she 
 answered. " I never dreamed of such a thing 
 until she suggested it ; then it was plain 
 enough especially after Nana Cleveland told 
 me that she suspected that Julia Wyse was not 
 as wealthy as she was reputed to be, and that 
 she was obliged, much against her will, to 
 economize." 
 
 " So your friend is mercenary ? " said Dr. 
 Townsend.
 
 TRYING TO FORGET. 251 
 
 " Call her a chance acquaintance, if you 
 please," answered Ethel. " My friends are 
 dear to me." 
 
 Dr. Townsend was puzzled. He had been 
 so sure that it was Jack's marriage which had 
 troubled Ethel that he had thought of nothing 
 else. What could it be? At last a thought 
 came to him which, he believed, explained the 
 whole matter. It must have been the young 
 German who was drowned. Ethel had written 
 of his pleasing qualities, and had sent papers 
 giving an account of his death ; but she had 
 not spoken of the tragic event in her letters, 
 or made any reference to him since they had 
 been together. That was unnatural : every- 
 thing was clear to him now. Poor child ! 
 Well, he must try and make her forget. After 
 all, a dead sorrow was better than a living one. 
 He was glad to know that it was not Jack.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE'S QUEST. 
 
 THE winter was wearing away. Gerald 
 Apthorpe was busier than ever. He was up 
 early and retired late ; and this sort of life 
 began to tell upon him. His sister remon- 
 strated. 
 
 "You are burning your candle at both 
 ends," she said. " It is not like you to .do 
 that. What is the matter with you ? You are 
 growing reckless. I think a change would do 
 you good." 
 
 He turned her off with a laugh ; but he knew 
 that what she said was true. He grew nervous 
 and irritable, and was as unlike the Gerald of 
 old as it was possible to conceive. Finally he 
 resolved to go abroad again. His friends did 
 not oppose it : in fact, they urged him to go. 
 After he had made up his mind, he was fever- 
 ishly anxious to be off. 
 
 " If you should run across the Townsends," 
 said his brother, "you have my leave to bring 
 them back, as you suggested."
 
 MAJOR APTHORPE' S QUEST. 253 
 
 "It is not likely that I shall," answered 
 Gerald. " I have no idea in what part of the 
 world they may be." 
 
 " I had a letter from Ned last week which 
 told me that they would be in Paris next 
 month," said Mr. Apthorpe, eagerly. 
 
 "Ah," said his brother, carelessly, as he 
 went out ; " I will look them up, perhaps." 
 
 " ' Perhaps ' ! you insensible piece of flesh 
 and blood," snarled Mr. Apthorpe, as the door 
 closed upon him. " ' Perhaps ' / " 
 
 But Major Apthorpe was not so indifferent 
 after reaching Paris. He hastened to their 
 hotel, only to find that they had just left for 
 Ecouen. He lost no time in setting out for 
 that place, and found, to his chagrin, that they 
 had returned to Paris. He said to himself : 
 " What a fool I am ! I am even worse than 
 Dick." But he made up his mind, neverthe- 
 less, that he would find them, if he had to 
 follow them all over Europe. He went back 
 to Paris, and on reaching the hotel again, 
 learned that they had gone out. 
 
 "At all events," he said to himself, "they 
 are here;" and for want of anything else, he
 
 254 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 went to the Louvre, and, strolling around, he 
 came upon a familiar figure standing before 
 the picture of " Cupid and Psyche," by Girard. 
 It was Ethel, and she was lost to everything 
 but the contemplation of that first kiss of love. 
 He came softly and stood beside her until the 
 consciousness of a familiar presence aroused 
 her, and she turned expecting to see her father. 
 She uttered but one word, " Gerald," but the 
 tone was so full of love, the face was so full of 
 happiness, that he could not mistake it. His 
 heart gave a joyful bound. 
 
 " Ethel, dear," he said, in the low, caressing 
 tones she knew so well, " bless you for that 
 name and that tone. Ah, you cannot take it 
 back," as she drew her hands away blushing. 
 " Love cannot be deceived. I shall always be 
 ' Gerald ' to you now." And he cabled this 
 message to his brother : 
 
 " I shall bring them back as I promised."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FOILED. 
 
 IF Gerald Apthorpe had grown nervous and 
 irritable, Nana Cleveland had grown still more 
 so. She was positively snappish. It is strange 
 how leng a woman will hope against hope, in 
 matters of the heart, grasping at the least 
 straw floating past her. She knew that Major 
 Apthorpe was utterly indifferent to her, and 
 yet she could not banish him from her thoughts. 
 She was impatient for the departure of her 
 visitor, who had already made an unconscionably 
 long visit, but she could hardly tell her to go, 
 although she felt that her indebtedness had 
 long since been canceled. The Widow Wyse 
 seemed in no hurry to go home. She bore the 
 shafts of Nana's ready wit with smiling com- 
 posure, or with innocently inquiring eyes. But 
 she could not deceive that young lady. Nana 
 was far too clear-sighted for that, and she was 
 annoyed by her guest's behavior. She had 
 done her best for the friend who had so
 
 256 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 pleasantly entertained her in the summer, but 
 she felt that Mrs. Wyse was not the success in 
 Boston society that she promised to be on her 
 first introduction to it. Indeed, it seemed to be 
 quite the fashion to smile whenever her name 
 was mentioned. The widow herself was con- 
 scious that she was not getting on, and that 
 had made her reckless. Her mysterious visits 
 to nobody-seemed-to-know-where were exasper- 
 ating to Nana, who was frankness itself. 
 
 Mrs. Wyse had many stormy scenes with her- 
 self in the privacy of -her own chamber, where 
 she laid plans only to reject them. She had 
 met Mr. Apthorpe " accidentally," she had told 
 Nana, several times, but she had made no 
 advances in his good graces, .^nd, driven des- 
 perate by her non-success, which she believed 
 to be due to what Ethel Townsend had been 
 pleased to say against her, she resolved upon 
 a bold stroke, which was to again "beard the 
 lion in his den." In other words, to pay him 
 a visit and try and explain Ethel's dislike in 
 a way which would be creditable to herself. 
 She was a good actress, and she felt that she 
 must succeed. She would succeed. Accord-
 
 FOILED. 257 
 
 ingly, choosing the morning on which she knew 
 Mrs. Amesbury would be engaged in mission- 
 work, she dressed herself carefully, and came 
 downstairs, saying sweetly to Nana : 
 
 " I should ask you to go with me, dear, but I 
 have a little tiresome business to do, and it 
 would bore you." Then, with moistened eyes, 
 she impulsively seized Nana's hand, saying, 
 "This has been such a charming, charming 
 visit, dear Nana, I have stayed longer than I 
 ought." She hurried away, while Miss Cleve- 
 land said to herself: 
 
 "Thank goodness, you think of leaving at 
 last ! but, my lady, I propose to know where 
 you are going this morning. It is nasty busi- 
 ness ; but I feel justified in doing it." And 
 hastily donning hat and wrap, she followed 
 her. 
 
 The widow's heart beat fast as she rang 
 Mr. Apthorpe's doorbell. It was an audacious 
 movement, and she could not foresee the 
 result. Mr. Apthorpe came smilingly toward 
 her. He had just received his brother's dis- 
 patch, and was in high good-humor. Mrs. 
 Wyse was flattered. She was herself again.
 
 258 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 She looked up timidly, then dropped her eyes 
 quickly, and something like a blush overspread 
 her features as she gently pressed the hand he 
 offered her. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Apthorpe ! " she began, in a hesi- 
 tating way, ' ' I am leaving Boston" here 
 her voice faltered perceptibly " and and 
 I could n't go without seeing you again. I 
 hoped you would call but " 
 
 " Well, well ! sit down, madam, sit down. 
 What can I do for you?" he said, in a bluff 
 voice, which was hardly encouraging. He was 
 saying to himself, " What the devil brings 
 Becky Sharp here this morning ? " 
 
 "Are you angry with me, dear Mr. Ap- 
 thorpe ? I know I ought not to have come ; 
 but I have enjoyed your society so much 
 and and oh, Mr. Apthorpe! I could nt go 
 away without saying good-by," and here she 
 put her handkerchief to her eyes ; but, feeling 
 that he was growing impatient, she uncovered 
 them and went on. " I want to explain some- 
 thing to you before I go. I feel that I have 
 been misrepresented. Ethel Townsend used to 
 be very fond of me ; but since last summer
 
 FOILED. 259 
 
 I was not to blame, indeed I was not ; 
 and it was so cruel to misrepresent me 
 to you. If it had been anybody else I should 
 not care ; but I do want you to understand 
 me." 
 
 " Zounds, madam ! do you take me for a 
 fool ? " he burst forth, angry that she should 
 speak thus of Ethel. " I do understand you 
 perfectly. I have understood you for a long 
 time, and hang it ! I shall say something I 
 ought not say to a woman if this goes on." 
 And he strode out of the room with something 
 on his lips that sounded very much like a d n. 
 
 The Widow Wyse looked ten years older 
 when she returned to her friend's house than 
 she did when she set out from it. Nana met 
 her, with a pale face and set lips. 
 
 " I think, Nana," she said, wearily, " that I 
 must go home to-morrow." 
 
 "You have come to a wise resolve," said 
 Nana, in clear, cutting tones. "When my 
 guest so far forgets herself as to make her 
 efforts to capture a rich husband so evident 
 that it becomes the subject for club gossip, 
 it is time for her visit to end. You have 
 evidently been refused this morning."
 
 260 THE WIDOW WTSE. 
 
 " You have been playing the spy ! " said Mrs. 
 Wyse, roused to sudden anger. 
 
 " I saw you enter Mr. Apthorpe's door, if 
 that is what you mean," answered Nana, coolly. 
 "And as 7 have business, also, to-day, it is 
 doubtful if I am able to see you again. I will 
 send Wilson to assist you in your preparations 
 for leaving. Allow me to wish you a very 
 good-day, and better success another time." 
 And sweeping her a mocking courtesy, Nana 
 left the room. 
 
 And the Widow Wyse went back to her 
 precious mamma.
 
 The Old Corner Bookstore, 
 
 October, 1884. 
 A 
 
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