g to admit that
she was wrong. Why, even to my brother--and a medical attendant, you
know, can hardly fail to be acquainted with family secrets--she has
always pretended to have the highest respect for her husband's qualities.
Poor Mrs. Raynor, however, is very well aware that every one knows the
real state of things. Latterly, she has not even avoided the subject with
me. The very last time I called on her she said, "Have you been to see my
poor daughter?" and burst into tears.'

'Pride or no pride,' said Mrs. Pettifer, 'I shall always stand up for
Janet Dempster. She sat up with me night after night when I had that
attack of rheumatic fever six years ago. There's great excuses for her.
When a woman can't think of her husband coming home without trembling,
it's enough to make her drink something to blunt her feelings--and no
children either, to keep her from it. You and me might do the same, if we
were in her place.'

'Speak for yourself, Mrs. Pettifer,' said Miss Pratt. 'Under no
circumstances can I imagine myself resorting to a practice so degrading.
A woman should find support in her own strength of mind.'

'I think,' said Rebecca, who considered Miss Pratt still very blind in
spiritual things, notwithstanding her assumption of enlightenment, 'she
will find poor support if she trusts only to her own strength. She must
seek aid elsewhere than in herself.'

Happily the removal of the tea-things just then created a little
confusion, which aided Miss Pratt to repress her resentment at Rebecca's
presumption in correcting her--a person like Rebecca Linnet! who six
months ago was as flighty and vain a woman as Miss Pratt had ever known
--so very unconscious of her unfortunate person!

The ladies had scarcely been seated at their work another hour, when the
sun was sinking, and the clouds that flecked the sky to the very zenith
were every moment taking on a brighter gold. The gate of the little
garden opened, and Miss Linnet, seated at her small table near the
window, saw Mr. Tryan enter.

'There is Mr. Tryan,' she said, and her pale cheek was lighted up with a
little blush that would have made her look more attractive to almost any
one except Miss Eliza Pratt, whose fine grey eyes allowed few things to
escape her silent observation. 'Mary Linnet gets more and more in love
with Mr. Tryan,' thought Miss Eliza; 'it is really pitiable to see such
feelings in a woman of her age, with those old-maidish little ringlets. I