e could of her sister's. Jessy had already settled it in
her mind that she, when she was old enough, was to be married; Rose, she
decided, must be an old maid, to live with her, look after her children,
keep her house. This state of things is not uncommon between two
sisters, where one is plain and the other pretty; but in this case, if
there _was_ a difference in external appearance, Rose had the advantage:
her face was more regular-featured than that of the piquant little
Jessy. Jessy, however, was destined to possess, along with sprightly
intelligence and vivacious feeling, the gift of fascination, the power
to charm when, where, and whom she would. Rose was to have a fine,
generous soul, a noble intellect profoundly cultivated, a heart as true
as steel, but the manner to attract was not to be hers.

"Now, Rose, tell me the name of this lady who denied that I was
sentimental," urged Mr. Moore.

Rose had no idea of tantalization, or she would have held him a while in
doubt. She answered briefly, "I can't. I don't know her name."

"Describe her to me. What was she like? Where did you see her?"

"When Jessy and I went to spend the day at Whinbury with Kate and Susan
Pearson, who were just come home from school, there was a party at Mrs.
Pearson's, and some grown-up ladies were sitting in a corner of the
drawing-room talking about you."

"Did you know none of them?"

"Hannah, and Harriet, and Dora, and Mary Sykes."

"Good. Were they abusing me, Rosy?"

"Some of them were. They called you a misanthrope. I remember the word.
I looked for it in the dictionary when I came home. It means a
man-hater."

"What besides?"

"Hannah Sykes said you were a solemn puppy."

"Better!" cried Mr. Yorke, laughing. "Oh, excellent! Hannah! that's the
one with the red hair--a fine girl, but half-witted."

"She has wit enough for me, it appears," said Moore. "A solemn puppy,
indeed! Well, Rose, go on."

"Miss Pearson said she believed there was a good deal of affectation
about you, and that with your dark hair and pale face you looked to her
like some sort of a sentimental noodle."

Again Mr. Yorke laughed. Mrs. Yorke even joined in this time. "You see
in what esteem you are held behind your back," said she; "yet I believe
_that_ Miss Pearson would like to catch you. She set her cap at you when
you first came into the country, old as she is."

"And who contradicted her, Rosy?" inquired Moore.

"A lady whom I don't know, bec