talked her over with Flora.

'What is it, Flora? is it my bad management? She is a good girl, and a
dear girl; but there is such a want of softness about her.'

'There is a want of softness about all the young ladies of the day,'
returned Flora.

'I have heard you say so, but--'

'We have made girls sensible and clear-headed, till they have grown
hard. They have been taught to despise little fears and illusions, and
it is certainly not becoming.'

'We had not fears, we were taught to be sensible.'

'Yes, but it is in the influence of the time! It all tends to make
girls independent.'

'That's very well for the fine folks you meet in your visits, but it
does not account for my Daisy--always at home, under papa's eye--having
turned nineteenth century--What is it, Flora? She is reverent in great
things, but not respectful except to papa, and that would not have been
respect in one of us--only he likes her sauciness.'

'That is it, partly.'

'No, I won't have that said,' exclaimed Ethel. 'Papa is the only
softening influence in the house--the only one that is tender. You see
it is unlucky that Gertrude has so few that she really does love, with
anything either reverend or softening about them. She is always at war
with Charles Cheviot, and he has not fun enough, is too lumbering
altogether, to understand her, or set her down in the right way; and
she domineers over Hector like the rest of us. I did hope the babies
might have found out her heart, but, unluckily, she does not take to
them. She is only bored by the fuss that Mary and Blanche make about
them.

'You know we are all jealous of both Charles Cheviots, elder and
younger.'

'I often question whether I should not have taken her down and made her
ashamed of all the quizzing and teasing at the time of Mary's marriage.
But one cannot be always spoiling bright merry mischief, and I am only
elder sister after all. It is a wonder she is as good to me as she is.'

'She never remembered our mother, poor dear.'

'Ah! that is the real mischief,' said Ethel. 'Mamma would have given
the atmosphere of gentleness and discretion, and so would Margaret. How
often I have been made, by the merest pained look, to know when what I
said was saucy or in bad taste, and I--I can only look forbidding, or
else blurt out a reproof that _will_ not come softly.'

'The youngest _must_ be spoilt,' said Flora, 'that's an ordinance of
nature. It ends when a boy goes to s