lady.' Whereas the truth was, that though my taste for buns and my
reverence for smooth pencil drawings in impossible perspective had
certainly diminished, my real enjoyment of a quiet evening with my old
friends was greater than before. I liked to take my sewing to their
undisturbed fireside, and not a few pieces of work which had flagged
under constant interruptions at home were rapidly finished as I
chatted with them. I liked to draw out the acquirements which they
would not believe that they possessed. I enjoyed rubbing my modern and
desultory reading against their old-fashioned but solid knowledge. I
admired their high and delicate principles, and respected their almost
fatiguing modesty. At an age when religious questions move and often
seriously trouble girls' minds, I drew comfort from their piety, which
(although as quiet and modest as all their other virtues) had been for
years, under my eyes, the ruling principle of all they did, the only
subject on which they had the courage to speak with decision, the
crown of their affections and pleasures, and the sufficient
consolation of their sorrow. In addition to all this, when I went to
them, I knew that my visit gave pleasure.

"It seemed hard that they could not always repose a similar confidence
in me. And yet so it was. The consistent affection of years had failed
to convince them that 'a young, pretty, lively girl' (as they were
pleased to call me) could find pleasure in the society of 'two dull
old women.' So they were apt to suspect either a second motive for my
visit, or affectation in my appearance of enjoyment. At times I was
chafed almost beyond my powers of endurance by these fancies; and on
one occasion my vexation broke all bounds of respect.

"'You think me uncandid, ma'am,' I cried; 'and what are you? If you
were to hear that I had spoken of you, elsewhere, as two dull old
women, you would be as much astonished as angered. You know you would.
You know you don't think I think so. I can't imagine why you say it!'

"And my feelings being as much in the way of my logic as those of most
other women, I got no further, but broke down into tears.

"'She says we're uncandid, Mary' sobbed Miss Martha.

"'So we are, I believe,' said Miss Mary, and then we all cried
together.

"I think the protracted worry of this misunderstanding (which had been
a long one) had made me almost hysterical. I clearly remember the
feeling of lying with my face against the ho