uld
neither complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his hasty
destruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would
burn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he took
care to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles of
foolscap, and snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly
disobeying him. Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and the
life of the family was embittered by their consciousness of it. It never
occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent mother to her two eldest
daughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of the youngest than
a turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their relations
never shook her faith in their "naturalness." Like her husband and the
vicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their parents
fit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents' tyranny, as she felt
it to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in a
false position towards her.

One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken a
house in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently with
his daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came.

"Yes," said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: "I knew
there was something the matter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. It
must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am very
glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like a
bachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. I
wish we could have afforded to ask her down here oftener."

"Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly," said Lydia, who had
been examining the envelope.

"To Nelly!" said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. "I think she should have invited
one of you first."

"Perhaps it is not an invitation," said Jane.

"What else is it likely to be, child?" said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as she
thought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, she
added, "After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. She
needs change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of her
to be always late like this."

Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face pale;
her eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in wisps
over her forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin and
gold lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being bl