stood; one of them
came forward, and came down the steps, and met me as I got out of the
carriage. That, of course, was Mrs. Hollenbeck, She welcomed me very
cordially, and led me up the steps of the piazza, where the young ladies
stood. Terrible young ladies! I shook with fear of them. I felt as if I
did not know anything, as if I did not look well, as if my clothes were
hideous. I should not have been afraid of young or old men, nor of old
women; but they were just my age, just my class, just my equals, or
ought to have been, if I had had any other fate than Uncle Leonard and
Varick-street. How they would criticize me! How soon they would find out
I had never been anywhere before! I wished for Richard then with all my
heart. Kilian had already deserted me, and was talking to Miss Leighton,
who had come half-way down the steps to meet him, and who only gave me a
glance and a very pretty smile and nod, when Mrs. Hollenbeck presented
me to them. Miss Benson and Miss Palmer each gave me a hand, and looked
me over horribly; and the tones of their voices, when they spoke to me,
were so constrained and cold, and so different from the tones in which
they addressed each other. I hated them.

After a few moments of wretchedness, Sophie proposed to take me to my
room. We went up the stairs, which were steep and old-fashioned, with a
landing-place almost like a little room. My room was in a wing of the
house, over the dining-room, and the windows looked out on the river. It
was not large, but was very pretty. The windows were curtained, and the
bed was dainty, and the little mantel was draped, and the ornaments and
pictures were quaint and delightful to my taste.

Sophie laid the shawls she had been carrying up for me upon the bed,
and said she hoped I would find everything I needed, and would try to
feel entirely at home, and not hesitate to ask for anything that would
make me comfortable.

Nothing could be kinder, but my affection and gratitude were fast dying
out, and I was quite sure of one thing, namely, that I never should love
Sophie if she spent her life in inviting me to pay her visits. She told
me that tea would be ready in half an hour, and then left me. I sat down
on the bed when she was gone, and wished myself back in Varick-street;
and then cried, to think that I should be homesick for such a dreary
home. But the appetites and affections common to humanity had not been
left out of my heart, though I had been begg