it wasn't such a true picture of the many Catherines we
find in real life, I should be quite disgusted, but I do love to see
real people in novels, then I know so much better how to deal with
them," said a pretty young lady who aspired to be called intellectual
because she liked to study character.

"Indeed, Catherine had a deep religious nature, which might be worthy of
emulation in many respects, and she is certainly a high ideal of wifely
love," Mrs. Hayden interposed at this critical juncture.

"Well, I didn't read the book for Catherine, but for the sake of knowing
Robert and what he did to make such a stir in the world. I'm opposed to
novels, as a rule, and read as little of one as I can," said Mrs. Dyke,
smoothing her lap and looking at the minister. Mrs. Hayden motioned to
Kate to play, and presently the rooms were filled with harmony.

Kate Turner was a natural musician, and to-night she fairly excelled
herself. The little passage at arms just recorded had inspired her with
emotions that could only be expressed in music, and she played some time
to the continued delight of her listeners. She finished at last with a
song that stirred every heart, and even Mrs. Dyke was visibly softened.
"Verily 'music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,'" murmured the
intellectual young lady, who was sorry that discussion of Robert Elsmere
had been interrupted. She rather enjoyed Mrs. Dyke, for she was an
immensely interesting "character."

This reception, like all others, came to an end at last. Everybody
expressed themselves as highly delighted with their entertainment, and
one by one reluctantly took their departure; the gay lanterns on the
lawn and among the shrubbery went out, the lights inside the splendid
mansion were finally extinguished, and only the quiet starlight
illumined Terrace Hill.

Mrs. Hayden, from her high bay window, looked out over the sleeping
city, then at the North Star that beamed so brightly above her--that
unerring beacon-light that guides so many lost mariners into port. Some
deep thought must have moved her, some hidden impulse stirred her mind.
She sighed. There was no visible reason for it. Then she turned and went
down the stairs to the nursery. Her two babies were sleeping sweetly.
Mabel was asleep in her room, and all was quiet. The hush seemed
oppressive after so much gay confusion. Now she was in another element.
Now she was the mother, then she was a fashionable woman. She hastened
b