ery well. I believe the
history of my want of music to be,' added she, with a bright smile,
'that I was too naughty to learn; and now, I am afraid--I am not sorry
for it, as it would have taken up a great deal of time, and two singing
sisters are surely enough for one family.'

'I was in hopes of hearing,' said Mrs. Bouverie, 'that you had trained
your school-children to sing the sixty-fifth Psalm as nicely as they
did to-day. I am sure their teacher must have come from the Vicarage.'

'No,' said Elizabeth, 'it was the school-master who taught them.
Perhaps, if Helen had not been from home so long, she might have helped
the girls, but when she came home three weeks ago, it was hardly worth
while for her to begin. That is the only reason I ever wished to
understand music.'

Mrs. Bouverie now began talking to her about the church and its
architecture, and of the children, in exactly the way that Elizabeth
liked, and in half an hour she saw more of Elizabeth's true self than
Miss Maynard had ever seen, though she had known her all her life. Miss
Maynard had seen only her roughness. Mrs. Bouverie had found her way
below it. Elizabeth was as sincere and open as the day, although from
seldom meeting with anyone who could comprehend or sympathize with her
ideas, her manners had acquired a degree of roughness and reserve,
difficult to penetrate, and anything but attractive, suiting ill with
her sweet smile and beaming eyes. She was talking quite happily and
confidentially to Mrs. Bouverie, when she caught Mrs. Woodbourne's eye,
and seeing her look anxious, she remembered Winifred's disaster, and
took the first opportunity of hastening up-stairs to see whether the
little girl's hand was still in as favourable a state as when she left
her.

A few moments after she had quitted the room, Sir Edward Merton
approached Mrs. Bouverie, and took the place beside her, which
Elizabeth had lately occupied.

'I hope Elizabeth has been gracious to you, as I see you have been so
kind as to talk to her,' said he, smiling.

'Oh, I hope we are becoming good friends,' said Mrs. Bouverie; 'I have
seldom seen so young a girl shew as much mind as your niece.'

'I am very glad to hear you say so,' said Sir Edward, 'for she is apt
to be rather more reserved with strangers than could be wished.'

'Perhaps she did not consider me as an entire stranger; I remember
seeing her once when a most engaging little child of four or five years
old