ubject. She thought
that that young woman, if she were not, as Mr. Carling said, "remarkably
well qualified to regulate her own affairs," at least held the opinion
that she was, very strongly.

The two were devotedly fond of each other, but Mrs. Carling was the
elder by twenty years, and in her love was an element of maternal
solicitude to which her sister, while giving love for love in fullest
measure, did not fully respond. The elder would have liked to share
every thought, but she was neither so strong nor so clever as the girl
to whom she had been almost as a mother, and who, though perfectly
truthful and frank when she was minded to express herself, gave, as a
rule, little satisfaction to attempts to explore her mind, and on some
subjects was capable of meeting such attempts with impatience, not to
say resentment--a fact of which her sister was quite aware. But as time
went on, and the frequency of John's visits and attentions grew into a
settled habit, Mrs. Carling's uneasiness, with which perhaps was mingled
a bit of curiosity, got the better of her reserve, and she determined
to get what satisfaction could be obtained for it.

They were sitting in Mrs. Carling's room, which was over the
drawing-room in the front of the house. A fire of cannel blazed in the
grate.

A furious storm was whirling outside. Mrs. Carling was occupied with
some sort of needlework, and her sister, with a writing pad on her lap,
was composing a letter to a friend with whom she carried on a desultory
and rather one-sided correspondence. Presently she yawned slightly, and,
putting down her pad, went over to the window and looked out.

"What a day!" she exclaimed. "It seems to get worse and worse.
Positively you can't see across the street. It's like a western
blizzard."

"It is, really," said Mrs. Carling; and then, moved by the current of
thought which had been passing in her mind of late, "I fancy we shall
spend the evening by ourselves to-night."

"That would not be so unusual as to be extraordinary, would it?" said
Mary.

"Wouldn't it?" suggested Mrs. Carling in a tone that was meant to be
slightly quizzical.

"We are by ourselves most evenings, are we not?" responded her sister,
without turning around. "Why do you particularize to-night?"

"I was thinking," answered Mrs. Carling, bending a little closer over
her work, "that even Mr. Lenox would hardly venture out in such a storm
unless it were absolutely necessary."

"Oh,