contact, with the gulf that lay between
her and her niece; although, through the early and inexplicable
condescension of a Miss Harriet Whyte, of Battersea, they bore the same
name, Miss Rowe was no blood relation _whatever_.

It was surprising to see how Lucy bore up under the misfortune. She was
not a Whyte, but she had lived beside one. Youth is so elastic! Lucy,
albeit she had the Rowe lip and nose, and, worse than all, the Rowe hair
(a warm auburn, which Mrs. Rowe described in one syllable, with a
picturesque and popular comparison comprehended in two), was daring
enough to meet the daylight, without showing the smallest signs of
giving way to melancholy. When new comers, as a common effort of
politeness, saw a strong likeness between Mrs. Rowe and her niece, the
representative of the Whytes of Battersea drew herself to her full
height, which was a trifle above her niece's shoulders, and
answered--"Oh dear, no, madam! It would be very strange if there were,
as there is not the slightest blood relationship between us."

Lucy Rowe was about fifteen when I first saw her. A slender,
golden-haired, shy and quiet girl, much in bashful and sensitive
demeanour like her romantic namesake of "the untrodden ways." It is
quite true that she had no Whyte blood in her veins, and Mrs. Rowe could
most conscientiously declare that there was not the least resemblance
between them. The Whyte features were of a type which none would envy
the possessor, save as the stamp of the illustrious house of Battersea.
The House of Savoy is not attractive by reason of its faultless profile;
but there are persons of almost matchless grace who would exchange their
beauty for its blood. In her very early days, I have no doubt. Lucy Rowe
would have given her sweet blue eyes, her pouting lips, and pretty head
(just enough to fold lovingly between the palms of a man's hand), for
the square jaw and high cheek-bone of the Whytes. She felt very humble
when she contemplated the grandeur of her aunt's family, and very
grateful to her aunt who had stooped so far as to give her shelter when
she was left alone in the world. She kept the accounts, ran errands,
looked after the house linen, and made herself agreeable to the
boarders' children; but all this was the very least she could do to
express her humble thankfulness to the great lady-relative who had
befriended her, after having been good enough to commit the sacrifice of
marrying her uncle Joshua.

Lu