ail, and after all it is only a foolish
girl's heart like any other, and now in its twenty-first year has given
its love to a man for the first time."

But Paula interrupted her: "I love the traitor no more! No, I hate him,
hate him beyond words! And the rest of them! I loathe them all!"

"Alas! that it should be so!" sighed the nurse. "Your lot is no doubt a
hard one. He--Orion--of course is out of the question; but I often ask
myself whether you might not mend matters with the others. If you had not
made it too hard for them, child, they must have loved you; they could
not have helped it; but ever since you have been in the house you have
only felt miserable and wished that they would let you go your own way,
and they--well they have done so; and now you find it ill to bear the lot
you chose for yourself. It is so indeed, child, you need not contradict
me. This once we will put the matter plainly: Who can hope to win love
that gives none, but turns away morosely from his fellow-creatures? If
each of us could make his neighbors after his own pattern--then indeed!
But life requires us to take them just as we find them, and you,
sweetheart, have never let this sink into your mind!"

"Well, I am what I am!"

"No doubt, and among the good you are the best--but which of them all can
guess that? Every one to some extent plays a part. And you! What wonder
if they never see in you anything but that you are unhappy? God knows it
is ten thousand times a pity that you should be! But who can take
pleasure in always seeing a gloomy face?"

"I have never uttered a single word of complaint of my troubles to any
one of them!" cried Paula, drawing herself up proudly.

"That is just the difficulty," replied Perpetua. "They took you in, and
thought it gave them a claim on your person and also on your sorrows.
Perhaps they longed to comfort you; for, believe me, child, there is a
secret pleasure in doing so. Any one who is able to show us sympathy
feels that it does him more good than it does us. I know life! Has it
never occurred to you that you are perhaps depriving your relations in
the great house of a pleasure, perhaps even doing them an injury by
locking up your heart from them? Your grief is the best side of you, and
of that you do indeed allow them to catch a glimpse; but where the pain
is you carefully conceal. Every good man longs to heal a wound when he
sees it, but your whole demeanor cries out: 'Stay where you are, and