the
Nile; if Shasta was a stranger to her eyes, the Finsteraarhorn and
Vesuvius were old friends. Shasta, indeed!--where was Shasta? She had
once been to Niagara Falls.

Her nephew smiled to himself as he thought that probably, in her own
mind, her present undertaking wore much of the air of an exploring
expedition, the kind of tour through remote regions that people made
sometimes, and then wrote books about--books with a great many
illustrations.

But Mrs. Rutherford would write no books. This lady noticed but slightly
the characteristics of the countries through which she passed, she never
troubled her mind with impressions, or burdened it with comparisons. She
seldom visited "objects of interest," but was always "rather tired" when
the appointed hour came, and thought she would lie down for a while;
they could tell her about it afterwards. Yet in her easy, irresponsible
fashion she enjoyed travelling; she liked new scenes and new people,
especially new people. In the evening, after a quiet (but excellent)
little dinner, and twenty minutes or so of lady-like tranquillity after
it, Mrs. Rutherford was always pleased to see the new people aforesaid;
and it could with truth be added that the new people were, as a general
thing, equally pleased to see her. She was a handsome, stately woman,
with agreeable manners, and so well-dressed that that alone was a
pleasure--a pleasure to the eyes; it was an attire rich and quiet, which
combined with extraordinary skill the two often sadly dissevered
qualities of personal becomingness and adaptation to the fashion of the
hour.

Evert Winthrop was much attached to his aunt. Associated with her were
the happiest memories of his childhood. He knew that her strongest love
had not been given to him, it had been given to her other nephew, his
cousin Lansing Harold. But of Lansing she had had entire charge from his
birth, he had been to her like her own child, while Andrew Winthrop had
kept closely in his own care his motherless little son Evert, allowing
him to spend only his vacations with his aunt Katrina--who was spoiling
one boy (so thought the New-Englander) as fast as possible, but who
should not be permitted to spoil another. These vacations, so grudgingly
granted, had been very happy times for the little Evert, and their
memory remained with him still. As he grew older he had gradually become
conscious of some of the traits and tendencies of his aunt's mind, apart
from his b