nced it to-day by the grand condescension of a
personal visit. Her reasons for the preference, as assigned by herself,
were that Miss Moore was a woman of steady deportment, without the least
levity of conversation or carriage; also that, being a foreigner, she
must feel the want of a friend to countenance her. She might have added
that her plain aspect, homely, precise dress, and phlegmatic,
unattractive manner were to her so many additional recommendations. It
is certain, at least, that ladies remarkable for the opposite qualities
of beauty, lively bearing, and elegant taste in attire were not often
favoured with her approbation. Whatever gentlemen are apt to admire in
women, Mrs. Yorke condemned; and what they overlook or despise, she
patronized.

Caroline advanced to the mighty matron with some sense of diffidence.
She knew little of Mrs. Yorke, and, as a parson's niece, was doubtful
what sort of a reception she might get. She got a very cool one, and was
glad to hide her discomfiture by turning away to take off her bonnet.
Nor, upon sitting down, was she displeased to be immediately accosted by
a little personage in a blue frock and sash, who started up like some
fairy from the side of the great dame's chair, where she had been
sitting on a footstool, screened from view by the folds of the wide red
gown, and running to Miss Helstone, unceremoniously threw her arms round
her neck and demanded a kiss.

"My mother is not civil to you," said the petitioner, as she received
and repaid a smiling salute, "and Rose there takes no notice of you; it
is their way. If, instead of you, a white angel, with a crown of stars,
had come into the room, mother would nod stiffly, and Rose never lift
her head at all; but I will be your friend--I have always liked you."

"Jessie, curb that tongue of yours, and repress your forwardness!" said
Mrs. Yorke.

"But, mother, you are so frozen!" expostulated Jessie. "Miss Helstone
has never done you any harm; why can't you be kind to her? You sit so
stiff, and look so cold, and speak so dry--what for? That's just the
fashion in which you treat Miss Shirley Keeldar and every other young
lady who comes to our house. And Rose there is such an aut--aut--I have
forgotten the word, but it means a machine in the shape of a human
being. However, between you, you will drive every soul away from
Briarmains; Martin often says so."

"I am an automaton? Good! Let me alone, then," said Rose, speaking fro