nto the window where I sat with my
knitting. Mr Parmenter was gone then, and Cecilia was up-stairs with
Fanny and Amelia.

"Cary," said he, "may I ask you a question?"

"Why, Ephraim, I thought you did that every day," I said, feeling rather
diverted at his saying such a thing.

"Ah, common questions that do not signify," said he, with a smile. "But
this is not an insignificant question, Cary; and it is one that I have
no right to ask unless you choose to give it me."

"Go on, Ephraim," said I, wondering what he meant.

"Are you very fond of Miss Osborne?"

"I never was particularly fond of her," I said, rather hotly, and I felt
my cheeks flush; "and if I had been, I think this morning would have put
an end to it."

"She is not true," he said. "She rings like false metal. Those who
trust in her professions will find the earth open and let them in. And
I should not like you to be one, Cary."

"Thank you, Ephraim," said I. "I think there is no fear."

"Your Cousin Amelia is foolish," he went on, "but I do not think she is
false. She will grow out of most of her nonsense. But Cecilia Osborne
never will. It is ingrain. She is an older woman at this moment than
Mrs Kezia."

"Older than my Aunt Kezia!" I am afraid I stared.

"I do not mean by the parish register, Cary," said Ephraim, with a
smile. "But she is old in Satan's ways and wiles, in the hard
artificial fashions of the world, in everything which, if I had a
sister, I should pray God she might never know anything about. Such
women are dangerous. I speak seriously, Caroline."

I thought it had come to a serious pass, when Ephraim called me
Caroline.

"It is not altogether a bad thing to know people for what they are," he
continued. "It may hurt you at the time to have the veil taken off; and
that veil, whether by the people themselves or by somebody else, is
often pulled off very roughly. But it is better than to have it on,
Cary, or to see the ugly thing through beautiful coloured glass, which
makes it look all kinds of lovely hues that it is not. The plain white
glass is the best. When you do come to something beautiful, then, you
see how beautiful it is." Then, changing his tone, he went on,--"Esther
Langridge sent you her love, Cary, and told me to say she was coming up
here this afternoon."

I did not quite wish that Esther would keep away, and yet I came very
near doing it. She is not a beautiful thing--I mean in her ways and