for a man to spend an evening or a Sunday when the
weather was fair and the fields green. The dinners were long and
rich; the wines good; and if old Ellwell was a somewhat scandalous
host, pleasing only to the coarser lads, there were other members of
the family--the two daughters, Leonora and Ruby.

The appearance of these two girls in this earthy family was anomalous.
Leonora, the older sister, was like a water-lily in a pool of ooze and
slime, delicately floating on the stagnant waters without a visible
stain at a single point of contact. She had the Ellwell features,
regular, angular, prominent; with her father's high forehead and
finely tapering hands, and also her father's thin unwholesome skin.
But instead of the livid tan complexion of the man who had beaten
about the years of his life, the woman's pinkish transparency likened
her again to the water-lily of the Middleton ponds. Her sister Ruby
was more striking, much in the florid style of her brother. While she
was young, she would be delicate enough to carry this kind of beauty;
ten years might bring about an unpleasant fulness of bloom. Both had
been petty invalids over many small ills, until now the monotony of
the Four Corners was bringing about a gentle activity and health.

If the mother was will-less in the general concerns of life, she had
shown one power in forming her daughters upon her own ideal of
refinement. It was the way of life for men to be brutes, in a curious
coarse fashion in speech, in appetites, in tastes; all that was an
unaccountable arrangement of providence. So likewise it was befitting
women to be chaste and refined, and to endure. Leonora comprehended
her mother's sad position, yet she never held her father responsible.
Men were made so, with a necessity for wickedness; some day she would
be called upon to marry such a man, and suffer patiently, without
scandal, a similar experience with vice. The woman's task was to keep
fresh and unspotted herself, her home, her rooms, like some cool
temple hidden away from summer heats and noisy commonness.

This girl of eighteen knew the family story as thoroughly as her
mother; knew the disgraceful episodes, the unstable condition of
fortune which they must expect. Tranquilly, daintily she trod her way,
avoiding "scenes," covering up brutality, ignoring beastly talk or
unpleasant dinner companions; occupying herself with her fresh
dresses, or household matters; now decorating a room in the old