ever
saw such eyes as Elsie's; and yet they have a kind of drawing virtue or
power about them,--I don't know what else to call it: have you never
observed this?"

His daughter smiled in her turn.

"Never observed it? Why, of course, nobody could be with Elsie Venner
and not observe it. There are a good many other strange things about
her: did you ever notice how she dresses?"

"Why, handsomely enough, I should think," the Judge answered. "I suppose
she dresses as she likes, and sends to the city for what she wants. What
do you mean in particular? We men notice effects in dress, but not much
in detail."

"You never noticed the colors and patterns of her dresses? You never
remarked anything curious about her ornaments? Well! I don't believe
you men know, half the time, whether a lady wears a nine-penny collar or
a thread-lace cape worth a thousand dollars. I don't believe you know a
silk dress from a bombazine one. I don't believe you can tell whether a
woman is in black or in colors, unless you happen to know she is a widow.
Elsie Venner has a strange taste in dress, let me tell you. She sends
for the oddest patterns of stuffs, and picks out the most curious things
at the jeweller's, whenever she goes to town with her father. They say
the old Doctor tells him to let her have her way about such matters.
Afraid of her mind, if she is contradicted, I suppose. You've heard
about her going to school at that place,--the 'Institoot,' as those
people call it? They say she's bright enough in her way,--has studied at
home, you know, with her father a good deal, knows some modern languages
and Latin, I believe: at any rate, she would have it so,--she must go to
the 'Institoot.' They have a very good female teacher there, I hear; and
the new master, that young Mr. Langdon, looks and talks like a
well-educated young man. I wonder what they 'll make of Elsie, between
them!"

So they talked at the Judge's, in the calm, judicial-looking
mansion-house, in the grave, still library, with the troops of wan-hued
law-books staring blindly out of their titles at them as they talked,
like the ghosts of dead attorneys fixed motionless and speechless, each
with a thin, golden film over his unwinking eyes.

In the mean time, everything went on quietly enough after Cousin
Richard's return. A man of sense,--that is, a man who knows perfectly
well that a cool head is worth a dozen warm hearts in carrying the
fortress of a wom