s that lie on the
surface of things and give life its polish, Audrey was for ever riding
full-tilt against prejudices or raising a crusade against what she chose
to term 'the bugbear of feminine existence--conventionality.'

Not that Audrey was a strong-minded person or a stickler for woman's
rights. She had no advanced notions, no crude theories, on the subject
of emancipation; it was only, to borrow Captain Burnett's words, that
her headlong sympathies carried her away; a passionate instinct of pity
always made her range herself on the losing side. Her virtues were
unequally balanced, and her generosity threatened to degenerate into
weakness. Most women love to feel the support of a stronger nature;
Audrey loved to support others; any form of suffering, mental or
physical, appealed to her irresistibly. Her sympathy was often
misplaced and excessive, and her power of self-effacement, under some
circumstances, was even more remarkable, the word 'self-effacement'
being rightly used here, as 'self-sacrifice' presupposes some
consciousness of action. It was this last trait that caused genuine
anxiety to those who knew and loved Audrey best; for who can tell to
what lengths a generous nature may go, to whom any form of pain is
intolerable, and every beggar, worthy or unworthy, a human brother or
sister, with claims to consideration?

If Audrey were not as clever as her elder sister, she had more
originality; she was also far more independent in her modes of action
and thought, and went on her own way without reference to others.

'It is not that I think myself wiser than other people,' she said once
to her cousin, who had just been delivering her a lecture on this
subject. 'Of course I am always making mistakes--everyone does; but you
see, Michael, I have lived so long with myself--exactly two-and-twenty
years--and so I must know most about myself, and what is best for this
young person,' tapping herself playfully.

Audrey was certainly not so handsome as her sister. She had neither
Geraldine's perfection of feature nor her exquisite colouring; but she
had her good points, like other people.

Her hair was soft and brown, and there was a golden tinge in it that was
greatly admired. There was also a depth and expression in her gray eyes
that Geraldine lacked. But the charm of Audrey's face was her smile. It
was no facial contortion, no mere lip service; it was a heart
illumination--a sudden radiance that seemed to light