kily the sea of life deepens rather fast.

Malbone had known Hope from her childhood, as he had known her cousins,
but their love dated from their meetings beside the sickbed of his
mother, over whom he had watched with unstinted devotion for weary
months. She had been very fond of the young girl, and her last earthly
act was to place Hope's hand in Philip's. Long before this final
consecration, Hope had won his heart more thoroughly, he fancied, than
any woman he had ever seen. The secret of this crowning charm was,
perhaps, that she was a new sensation. He had prided himself on his
knowledge of her sex, and yet here was a wholly new species. He was
acquainted with the women of society, and with the women who only wished
to be in society. But here was one who was in the chrysalis, and had
never been a grub, and had no wish to be a butterfly, and what should he
make of her? He was like a student of insects who had never seen a bee.
Never had he known a young girl who cared for the things which this
maiden sought, or who was not dazzled by things to which Hope seemed
perfectly indifferent. She was not a devotee, she was not a prude;
people seemed to amuse and interest her; she liked them, she declared,
as much as she liked books. But this very way of putting the thing
seemed like inverting the accustomed order of affairs in the polite
world, and was of itself a novelty.

Of course he had previously taken his turn for a while among Kate's
admirers; but it was when she was very young, and, moreover, it was hard
to get up anything like a tender and confidential relation with that
frank maiden; she never would have accepted Philip Malbone for herself,
and she was by no means satisfied with his betrothal to her best
beloved. But that Hope loved him ardently there was no doubt, however it
might be explained. Perhaps it was some law of opposites, and she needed
some one of lighter nature than her own. As her resolute purpose charmed
him, so she may have found a certain fascination in the airy way in
which he took hold on life; he was so full of thought and intelligence;
possessing infinite leisure, and yet incapable of ennui; ready to oblige
every one, and doing so many kind acts at so little personal sacrifice;
always easy, graceful, lovable, and kind. In her just indignation at
those who called him heartless, she forgot to notice that his heart was
not deep. He was interested in all her pursuits, could aid her in all
her stu