negroes so well.'
(Scratched out.) 'What nonsense I have written! I was listening to some
letters they were reading from the Mr. Martindale in the West Indies.
Violet tells me to finish with her dearest love.

'Your most affectionate,

'A. Moss.

'P.S.--He will come to-morrow to take us to a private view of the Royal
Academy, before the pictures are removed.'

The same post carried a letter from Violet to her husband, communicating
the arrival of her guests, and telling him she knew that he could not
wish her not to have Annette with her for these few days, and that it
did make her very happy.

Having done this, she dismissed doubts, and, with a clear conscience,
gave herself up to the enjoyment of her sister's visit, each minute
of which seemed of diamond worth. Perhaps the delights were the more
intense from compression; but it was a precious reprieve when Arthur's
answer came, rejoicing at Violet's having a companion, and hoping that
she would keep her till his return, which he should not scruple to
defer, since she was so well provided for. He had just been deliberating
whether he could accept an invitation to the Highlands.

If the wife was less charmed than her sister, she knew that, under any
circumstances, she would have had to consent, after the compliment had
been paid of asking whether she could spare him; and it was compensation
enough that he should have voluntarily extended her sister's visit.

Annette, formerly the leader of her younger sister, was often pleasantly
surprised to find her little Violet become like her elder, and that
not only from situation, but in mind. With face and figure resembling
Violet's, but of a less uncommon order, without the beauteous complexion
and the natural grace, now enhanced by living in the best society,
Annette was a very nice-looking, lady-like girl, of the same refined
tone of mind and manners; and having had a longer space of young
ladyhood, she had more cultivation in accomplishments and book
knowledge, her good taste saving her from being spoilt, even by her
acquiescence in Matilda's superiority. She saw, however, that Violet
had more practical reflection, and though in many points simple and
youthful, was more of a woman than herself; and it was with that sweet,
innocent feeling, which ought not to bear the same name as pride, that
she exulted in the superiority of her beloved sister. Selfish jealousies
or petty vanities were far from her; it was like a