you, and won't perhaps
when it can; that has nothing interesting in it, that is not amusing
like a kitten, or even pretty. Well! let us suppose the people it
belongs to like it by instinct--but the rest of the world--"

"Oh, Cousin Sophy!" cried Ursula, her eyes round with alarm and horror.

"You think I ought to be fond of them because they are my brother's
children? We are not always very fond even of our brothers, Ursula.
Don't scream; at your age it is different; but when they marry and have
separate interests--if these mites go on looking at me with those big
scared eyes as if they expected me to box their ears, I shall do it some
day--I know I shall; instead of going on my knees to them, like Anne,
to curry favour. If they had been like our family, why, that would have
been some attraction. Are you pleased to go home, or would you prefer to
stay here?"

"In London?" said Ursula, with a long-drawn breath, her hands
involuntarily clasping each other. "Oh! I hope you won't think me very
silly, but I do like London. Yes, I am pleased--I have so many presents
to take to them, thanks to you and to Cousin Anne, and to Mrs.
Copperhead. I am ashamed to be carrying away so much. But Carlingford is
not like London," she added, with a sigh.

"No, it is a pretty soft friendly country place, not a great
cold-hearted wilderness."

"Oh, Cousin Sophy!"

"My poor little innocent girl! Don't you think it is desolate and
cold-hearted, this great sea of people who none of them care one straw
for you?"

"I have seen nothing but kindness," said Ursula, with a little heat of
virtuous indignation; "there is you, and Mrs. Copperhead; and even the
gentlemen were kind--or at least they meant to be kind."

"The gentlemen?" said Sophy, amused. "Do you mean the Copperheads?
Clarence perhaps? He is coming to Easton, Ursula. Shall I bring him into
Carlingford to see you?"

"If you please, Cousin Sophy," said the girl, simply. She had not been
thinking any thoughts of "the gentlemen" which could make her blush, but
somehow her cousin's tone jarred upon her, and she turned round to her
packing. The room was littered with the things which she was putting
into her box, that box which had grown a great deal too small now,
though it was quite roomy enough when Ursula left home.

"Ursula, I think you are a good little thing on the whole--"

"Oh, Cousin Sophy, forgive me! No, I am not good."

"Forgive you! for what? Yes, you are on the who