could always listen to his stories; she was
never too much engaged to walk or ride with
him; she was a better listener than ever,
and soon knew the distinctive characters of
Brown, Sinclair, and Tomlins, Edward's
particular friends, and could talk about them as
if she were familiarly acquainted with them
herself; while the arguments she employed to
mollify his indignation against "that bully"
Houseman, and to qualify his contempt for
"Uncle" Bobbins, the pawnbroker's son,
only gave additional gusto to the conversation
by supplying the spice of a little
contradiction.

Catherine's altered looks had struck
Edward on his first arrival, and it was not long
before he discovered that her spirits had lost
much of their elasticity, and that in his
mother's company she was always depressed
and nervous. With unusual self-command,
he kept his thoughts to himself, and carried
on his observations in silence for several
days, when he had ascertained that a
coldness and distance in his mother's manner
aggravated, if it did not cause this suffering,
he resolved at once to appeal to her better
nature, and to plead with her for worthier
treatment of his brother's affianced wife.
Accordingly, he entered her dressing-room
one morning, and flinging himself on the rug
at her feet, laid his head in her lap—an old
childish habit of his, which she loved—and
stroking her hand, caressingly, said,

"What a charming Christmas party we
have, mother? I wish Frank were here."

"Frank is much better where he is," replied
Lady Irwin.

"Of course, it's very nice to be at Rome;
and if Kitty were with him, I don't suppose
he would be in any hurry to get back. But
as it is——"

"Don't distress yourself, Edward; Frank's
love will never break his slumbers, or spoil
his appetite. Catherine did not give him
much trouble, you know."

"No, I don't know what you mean by
that, mother. If Kitty loved him with all
her heart, as it was just and natural she
should, would you have had her tell a lie, and
say she didn't care for him?"

"I do not blame her. I say nothing. Your
brother's honour is engaged. I only say that
he does not appear to suffer much from
homesickness."

"I don't think you can tell that, unless you
were to see the letters he writes to Kitty. Of
course he doesn't let out his feelings to you,
or my father; but if he is so happy in Rome,
which I don't believe, you can hardly say the
same of her. O mother, I do so wish you
would take pity on her, and comfort her with
a few kind words. She will have quite lost
her pretty looks before Frank comes back."

"You are very much mistaken, Edward, if
you think that Catherine's happiness depends
at all on me; and as to her fretting, I do
not believe she has sufficient depth of feeling
to fret for more than half a day about
anything or any one. Agnese tells me, that on
the very day of Frank's departure she went
and took tea with that stupid paralytic old
woman who lives at Hopwood."

"Is that the only bit of scandal Agnese
has been able to pick up? She'd be much
better employed in putting bows into your
caps, instead of poking her ugly face into all
the poor people's cottages, and prying into
the affairs of her betters. What comfort
Kitty could have found in going to see that
cross old woman, I can't pretend to say. Poor
child, what a sorrowful heart she must
have had coming all down Hopwood Lane in
the gloaming, with no Frank to meet her! I
tell you mother, I can see the trouble in her
eyes; and take my word for it, three nights
out of the seven her pillow is not dry when
she goes to sleep."

"What an extraordinary infatuation it is
that you labour under about such a matter of
fact person as Kitty. If she does look pale
sometimes, it can be no wonder, when Mr.
Birkby keeps her so many hours reading to
him. You should appeal to him, not to me.
Catherine's feelings are never likely to injure
her health."

"Oh, my dear mother, if you did but know
her!"—cried Edward rising on his knees in
his eagerness, and looking with earnest
entreaty into his mother's face—"if you would
but open your heart to her! It would make
you so much happier."

"My happiness is beyond her reach, either
to diminish or increase," replied Lady Irwin,
haughtily. It cut her to the heart to hear
her boy pleading for the tender girl whom
she hated.

"Only look at her, mother," pursued
Edward, undaunted by her coldness. "Where
did you ever see a sweeter smile? And as
to her hands and feet, they are fifty times
smaller and prettier than Clementina's, that
Aunt Fanny is always making such a fuss
about. Then, for a companion,—who is
always sweet-tempered, always at leisure,
like Kitty? I'm sure you have reason to
thank her, mother; I don't know what I
should have been, if she hadn't taken so
much trouble with me. I never heard any
one teach a fellow his duty to his neighbour,
as Kitty does; and it's all the better because
she does not seem to be teaching at all. Oh,
mother! you do not know what you do
when you shut her from your heart. She
would be a dear daughter to you."

"I had a daughter once," returned Lady
Irwin, bitterly, "who might have been what
it seems my son will never be."

"Do not be angry, mother. I love you—
you know I love you dearly; but, as Kitty
says, love opens and does not narrow the
heart."

"That is just the sort of speech I should
have expected her to make—just the idea
I should suppose her to entertain. Those