clothes, and it would have been inconceivable that
either Miss Martin's body or her mind should have assimilated the
harmonious fluid adaptability of the draperies that framed and
surrounded Lady Gore as she lay on her couch.

"I don't think it does her much harm," said Lady Gore, a good deal
understating her conviction of her daughter's perfections.

"That's as may be," said Miss Martin encouragingly. "Where is she
to-day, by the way?" she said, stopping on her way to the door.

"For a wonder she is not at home," Lady Gore said. "She has gone to stay
away from me for the first time in her life; she is at Mrs. Feversham's,
at Maidenhead, for the night."

"How girls do gad nowadays, to be sure!" said Miss Martin.

"I hardly think that can be said of Rachel," said Lady Gore.

"Whether Rachel does or not, my dear Elinor, girls do gad--there is no
doubt about that. I'm sorry I have not seen William. He is too busy, I
suppose," with a slightly ironical intonation. "Goodbye!"

"Can you find your way out?" said Lady Gore, ringing a hand-bell.

"Oh dear, yes," said Miss Martin. "Goodbye," and out she went.

Lady Gore leant back with a sigh of relief. A companion like Miss Martin
makes a most excellent foil to solitude, and after she had departed,
Lady Gore lay for a while in a state of pleasant quiescence. Why, she
wondered, even supposing she herself did think too well of her husband,
should Miss Martin object? Why do onlookers appear to resent the
spectacle of a too united family? There is, no doubt, something
exasperating in an excess of indiscriminating kindliness. But it is an
amiable fault after all; and, besides, more discrimination may sometimes
be required to discover the hidden good lurking in a fellow-creature
than to perceive and deride his more obvious absurdities and defects. It
would no doubt be a very great misfortune to see our belongings as they
appear to the world at large, and the fay who should "gie us that
giftie" ought indeed to be banished from every christening. Let us
console ourselves: she commonly is.

But poor Miss Martin had no adoring belongings to shed the genial light
of affection on her doings, to give her even mistaken admiration,
better than none at all. Life had dealt but bleakly with her; she had
always been in the shadow: small wonder then if her nature was blighted
and her view of life soured. Lady Gore smiled to herself, a little
wistfully perhaps, as she tried to put herself i