glad he is no real
relation to that Mr. Gardner.'

'Was it Mr. Gardner who met me going down-stairs?' said Violet, with an
unpleasant recollection of having been stared at. 'Is he their brother?'

'No; their cousin. I wonder what you think of them?' said Theodora,
hastily throwing aside her bonnet and gloves, and seating herself.

'Miss Gardner is very good-natured and pleasing.'

'Those words are made for her. But what of Georgina?'

'I hardly know her,' said Violet, hesitating. 'This is only the second
time I have seen her; and last year I was so unwell that her liveliness
was too much for me.'

'Overpowering,' said Theodora. 'So people say. It is time she should
steady; but she will not think. I'm provoked with her. I did not like
her looks to-day, and yet she has a good warm heart. She is worth a
dozen Janes! Don't prefer Jane to her, whatever you do, Violet!' Then
breaking off, she began earnestly: 'You see, Violet, those are my oldest
friends; I never could care for any girl but Georgina, and we have
done such things together as I never can forget. They had great
disadvantages; a set of wretched governesses--one worse than the other,
and were left entirely to their mercy. My education was no pattern; but
it was a beauty to theirs, thanks to my father. I do believe I was the
only person with any serious notions that Georgina ever came in contact
with, in all her growing up. Their father died just as she was coming
out, leaving very little provision for them; and they were shifted about
among fine relations, who only wanted to get rid of them, and gave them
to understand they must marry for a home.'

'Poor girls! What a miserable life!'

'Jane knew she was no beauty, and took to the obliging line. She fawns,
and is intimate and popular. I never liked her silkiness, though it
creeps into one at the time. Georgina had more in her. I wish you could
have seen her at eighteen. She was such a fine, glowing, joyous-looking
girl, with those bright cheeks, and her eyes dancing and light hair
waving, and exuberant spirits that no neglect or unkindness could
daunt--all wild gaiety, setting humbug at defiance, and so good-natured!
Oh! dear, it makes one melancholy!'

'And what made the change?'

'She had a long, low, nervous fever, as they called it; but I have never
known much about it, for it was when we were all taken up with John's
illness. She was very long in recovering, and I suppose her spirit was
broken, a