d something to occupy her
imagination. She assured herself that she was enchanted with her new
relatives; she professed to herself that, like her brother, she felt
it a sacred satisfaction to have found a family. It is certain that she
enjoyed to the utmost the gentleness of her kinsfolk's deference.
She had, first and last, received a great deal of admiration, and her
experience of well-turned compliments was very considerable; but she
knew that she had never been so real a power, never counted for so
much, as now when, for the first time, the standard of comparison of her
little circle was a prey to vagueness. The sense, indeed, that the good
people about her had, as regards her remarkable self, no standard of
comparison at all gave her a feeling of almost illimitable power. It was
true, as she said to herself, that if for this reason they would be
able to discover nothing against her, so they would perhaps neglect
to perceive some of her superior points; but she always wound up her
reflections by declaring that she would take care of that.

Charlotte and Gertrude were in some perplexity between their desire
to show all proper attention to Madame Munster and their fear of being
importunate. The little house in the orchard had hitherto been occupied
during the summer months by intimate friends of the family, or by poor
relations who found in Mr. Wentworth a landlord attentive to repairs and
oblivious of quarter-day. Under these circumstances the open door of the
small house and that of the large one, facing each other across their
homely gardens, levied no tax upon hourly visits. But the Misses
Wentworth received an impression that Eugenia was no friend to the
primitive custom of "dropping in;" she evidently had no idea of living
without a door-keeper. "One goes into your house as into an inn--except
that there are no servants rushing forward," she said to Charlotte. And
she added that that was very charming. Gertrude explained to her sister
that she meant just the reverse; she did n't like it at all. Charlotte
inquired why she should tell an untruth, and Gertrude answered that
there was probably some very good reason for it which they should
discover when they knew her better. "There can surely be no good reason
for telling an untruth," said Charlotte. "I hope she does not think so."

They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way
of helping her to arrange herself. It had seemed to Charlotte t