mber the two sisters, when Rosamond was four or five years old; and
when Ida seemed to me, even then, to be more like the child's mother
than her sister. She bore with her little caprices as sisters do not
bear with one another. She was so patient at lesson-time, so anxious to
conceal any weariness that might overcome her in play hours, so proud
when Rosamond's beauty was noticed, so grateful for Rosamond's kisses
when the child thought of bestowing them, so quick to notice all
that Rosamond did, and to attend to all that Rosamond said, even when
visitors were in the room, that she seemed, to my boyish observation,
altogether different from other elder sisters in other family circles
into which I was then received.

I remember then, again, when Rosamond was just growing to womanhood, and
was in high spirits at the prospect of spending a season in London,
and being presented at court. She was very beautiful at that time--much
handsomer than Ida. Her "accomplishments" were talked of far and near in
our country circles. Few, if any, of the people, however, who applauded
her playing and singing, who admired her water-color drawings, who were
delighted at her fluency when she spoke French, and amazed at her ready
comprehension when she read German, knew how little of all this elegant
mental cultivation and nimble manual dexterity she owed to her governess
and masters, and how much to her elder sister. It was Ida who really
found out the means of stimulating her when she was idle; Ida who helped
her through all her worst difficulties; Ida who gently conquered her
defects of memory over her books, her inaccuracies of ear at the piano,
her errors of taste when she took the brush and pencil in hand. It was
Ida alone who worked these marvels, and whose all-sufficient reward for
her hardest exertions was a chance word of kindness from her sister's
lips. Rosamond was not unaffectionate, and not ungrateful; but she
inherited much of her father's commonness and frivolity of character.
She became so accustomed to owe everything to her sister--to resign all
her most trifling difficulties to Ida's ever-ready care--to have all
her tastes consulted by Ida's ever-watchful kindness--that she never
appreciated, as it deserved, the deep, devoted love of which she was the
object. When Ida refused two good offers of marriage, Rosamond was as
much astonished as the veriest strangers, who wondered why the elder
Miss Welwyn seemed bent on remaining