ould rescue them in times of domestic need: pay
for a nephew's schooling, send a delicate niece to the sea, and give
very substantial presents at birthdays and Christmas. Their point of
view seemed to be that if anyone had been so lucky as to keep out of the
bothers of marriage, the least she could do was to help her unfortunate
sisters. Still, they disliked being beholden to Henrietta, and, half
intentionally, set their children against her to relieve their feelings.
The children were not bad children, but Henrietta found their visits
burdensome. She was becoming a little set and unwilling to be disturbed,
and she said the children were spoilt. Minna and Louie had determined
they would not be the strict parents of the elder generation, whereas
Henrietta, who remembered all the snubbing of her youth, wanted to have
her turn of giving snubs, and this did not make her popular. She never
grew very fond of these children, but kept her affection for something
else.

For it is not to be supposed that a heart with such peculiar longing for
love was to be satisfied with a life in which feeling played so little
part. She had put aside the desire for a lover now. She was not one of
the women whom nothing will satisfy but marriage; on the whole she did
not care very much for men. She wanted what she had always wanted,
something to love and something to love her. And she had good reason to
hope that at last that wish might be realized, for it was agreed between
her and Evelyn that if there were any children, she was to bring them up
while Evelyn was abroad. Round this hope she built many happy schemes.

Henrietta had seen very little of Evelyn all this time--the regiment
went from one foreign station to another--but very affectionate letters
passed between the two.

For some years no children were born. Then came a little girl. "She is
to be called Etta," said Evelyn's letter, "and you know she is your baby
as well as ours. Do you remember what you did for me in old days? I
think of how you will do the same for baby, and I could not bear for
anyone else to do it but you." The baby died in the first year. Then
came a little boy, who lived an even shorter time; then another little
girl. The parents and Henrietta hardly dared to hope this time. But the
perilous first year passed, then, although she was always very delicate,
a second, third, and fourth. Then, when the plans were maturing for her
coming home, she died too. It seems so