than that, so she knelt to thank her
heavenly Father for His protecting care during her journey. She asked,
too, that as she was far away from all dear home friends and familiar
surroundings, she might be helped to love those around her now, and to
do her duty in her new circumstances.

Her heart was much lighter and calmer now, and she was nearly ready to
go down to dinner, when Stella came in to help her, and to insist on
arranging her hair in a new fashion she had lately learned, before
escorting her down to the dining-room. Lucy had dreaded a good deal
her introduction to her uncle, of whom she had not a very pleasant
impression. He was a brisk, shrewd-looking man, a great contrast to
his listless-looking son; and his manner, though patronizing, was not
ungenial, as Lucy had feared it would be, from his harsh opinions,
quoted by Stella, in regard to the poor. All the rest of the family
she had already seen, Edwin being the only son who had survived, and
on that account, probably, a good deal spoilt.

Lucy could not help noticing the very slight mourning worn by the
family, if indeed it could be called mourning at all. But even this
slight mark of respect would hardly have been accorded to Mr.
Raymond's memory, but for Lucy's coming among them in her deep
mourning. "People would notice, and it wouldn't look well," Sophy had
said; and this decided the question, though the girls grumbled a good
deal at the inconvenience of it, especially at a time of the year when
they were usually so gay, and wanted to wear colours. Stella was the
only one who did not object. She had imbibed a strong respect for her
uncle, and wore her black dress with a certain satisfaction, in the
feeling that she was doing honour to his memory.

There was a good deal of lively talk during dinner, almost
unintelligible, however, to Lucy, from her ignorance of the persons
and things talked about. The tone of conversation, however, was as
uncongenial as were the subjects. Edwin had a cynical air, partly
real, partly affected; and the girls' remarks were characterized by
the same sort of flippancy which had often jarred upon her in Stella.

After dinner Edwin disappeared, Mr. Brooke became absorbed in his
newspapers, Sophy was soon engrossed with a novel, and Ada and her
mother employed themselves in some very pretty worsted embroidery.
Lucy, of course, had no work as yet, and Stella resorted to her old
fashion of lounging about doing nothing in p