s there was no girl left in the world like my poor
mother, I should be safer and happier with one of my cousins. They
were unexceptionably brought up, and would all have considerable
fortunes.

But though I was very fond of my cousins, I had no wish to choose a
wife from them. They had been more like sisters to me than cousins
from our childhood. At one time, it is true, I was rather sentimental
about Helen. She was the only one of the sisters who was positively
pretty, and her resolute character and unusual tastes roused a
romantic interest in me for a while. When she was twelve years old,
she was found one day by Aunt Maria in the bedroom of a servant who
had fallen ill, and to whom she was attending with the utmost
dexterity. She had a genius for the duties of a sick room, which
developed as she grew up. There were no lady-doctors then, but Helen
was determined to be a hospital nurse. Strongly did Aunt Maria object,
and Helen never defied her wishes in the matter. But she had all Mrs.
Ascott's determination, with more patience. She waited long, but she
followed her vocation at last.

None of the other girls had any special tastes. The laborious and
expensive education of their childhood did not lead to anything worth
the name of a pursuit, much less a hobby, with any one of them. Of the
happiness of learning, of the exciting interest of an intellectual
hobby, they knew nothing. With much pains and labour they had been
drilled in arts and sciences, in languages and "the usual branches of
an English education." But, apart from social duties and amusements,
the chief occupation of their lives was needlework. I have known many
people who never received proper instruction in music or drawing, who
yet, from what they picked up of either art by their own industry and
intelligence, nearly doubled the happiness of their daily lives. But
in vain had "the first masters" made my cousins glib in chromatic
passages, and dexterous with tricks of effects in colours and crayons.
They played duets after dinner, and Aunt Maria sometimes showed off
the water-colour copies of their school-room days, which, indeed, they
now and then recopied for bazaars; but for their own pleasure they
never touched a note or a pencil. Perhaps real enjoyment only comes
with what one has, to a great extent, taught oneself. Helen had been
her own mistress in the art of nursing, and it was an all-absorbing
interest to her.

They were very nice girls, and