en a positive relief. She thought the
pleasure was owing to the appeal to old times, recalling happy days
of wild frolics, sometimes shared, sometimes censured by her grown-up
playfellow; the few hours with his sister that had influenced her whole
life; and the lectures, earnest, though apparently sportive, by which he
had strengthened and carried on the impression; that brief time, also,
of their last spending together, when his sorrow for his sister was
fresh, and when John was almost in a hopeless state, and when she had
been the one of the family to whom he came to pour out his grief, and
talk over what his sister had been.

It was a renewal of happiness to her heart, wearied with jealousy, to
find one to whom old times were precious, and who took her up where
he had last seen her. His blunt ways, and downright attacks, were a
refreshment to a spirit chafing against the external smoothness and
refinement of her way of life, and the pleasure of yielding to his
arguments was something new and unexampled. She liked to gain the bright
approving look, and with her universal craving for attention, she could
not bear not to be engrossing him, whether for blame or praise, it did
not matter; but she had the same wish for his notice that she had for
Arthur's.

Not that she by any means always obtained it. He was in request with
every one except Mrs. Nesbit. Even Lady Martindale took interest in his
conversation, and liked to refer questions about prints and antiques to
his decision, and calls on his time and attention were made from every
quarter. Besides, he had his own manuscript to revise, and what most
mortified Theodora was to hear Violet's assistance eagerly claimed,
as she knew her way better than John did through the sheets, and could
point to the doubtful passages. Never was work more amusing than this,
interspersed with debates between the two friends, with their droll
counter versions of each other's anecdotes, and Mr. Fotheringham's
quizzings of John, at whom he laughed continually, though all the
time it was plain that there was no one in the world whom he so much
reverenced.

The solitary possession of her own mornings was now no boon to Theodora.
She was necessary to no one, and all her occupations could not drive
away the ever-gnawing thought that Violet attracted all the regard and
attention that belonged to her. If the sensation went away when she was
down-stairs, where Percy's presence obliged her to be