ruel, in appearance. I could not account for Adelaide's
perversity in liking him, and passed puzzled days and racked my brain in
conjecture as to why when Sir Peter came Adelaide should be always at
home, always neat and fresh--not like me. Why was Adelaide, who found it
too much trouble to join Stella and me in our homely concerts, always
ready to indulge Sir Peter's taste for music, to entertain him with
conversation?--and she _could_ talk. She was unlike me in that respect.
I never had a brilliant gift of conversation. She was witty about the
things she did know, and never committed the fatal mistake of pretending
to be up in the things she did not know. These gifts of mind, these
social powers, were always ready for the edification of Sir Peter. By
degrees the truth forced itself upon me. Some one said--I overheard
it--that "that handsome Miss Wedderburn was undoubtedly setting her cap
at Sir Peter Le Marchant." Never shall I forget the fury which at first
possessed me, the conviction which gradually stole over me that it was
true. My sister Adelaide, beautiful, proud, clever--and, I had always
thought, good,--had distinctly in view the purpose of becoming Lady Le
Marchant. I shed countless tears over the miserable discovery, and dared
not speak to her of it. But that was not the worst. My horizon darkened.
One horrible day I discovered that it was I, and not Adelaide, who had
attracted Sir Peter's attentions. It was not a scene, not a set
declaration. It was a word in that smooth voice, a glance from that
hated and chilling eye, which suddenly aroused me to the truth.

Shuddering, dismayed, I locked the matter up within my own breast, and
wished with a longing that sometimes made me quite wretched that I could
quit Skernford, my home, my life, which had lost zest for me, and was
become a burden to me. The knowledge that Sir Peter admired me
absolutely degraded me in my own eyes. I felt as if I could not hold up
my head. I had spoken to no one of what had passed within me, and I
trusted it had not been noticed; but all my joy was gone. It was as if I
stood helpless while a noisome reptile coiled its folds around me.

To-day, after Miss Hallam's departure, I dropped into my now chronic
state of listlessness and sadness. They all came back; my father from
the church; my mother and Adelaide from Darton, whither they had been on
a shopping expedition; Stella from a stroll by the river. We had tea,
and they dispersed qui