et
would she weep bitterly over her lonely condition, lamenting the
plain face and unattractive manners, which she fancied rendered her
an object of dislike. Still there was about her a depth of feeling
of which none had ever dreamed, and it only required a skillful hand
to mold her into an altogether different being. She was, perhaps,
too easily influenced, for in spite of her distrust, a pleasant word
or kind look would win her to almost anything.

Of this weakness Mrs. Livingstone seemed well aware, and for the
better accomplishment of her plan, she deemed it necessary that Mabel
should believe her to be the best friend she had in the world.
Accordingly, she now flattered and petted her, calling her "darling,"
and "dearest," and urging her to stop at Maple Grove, until she
consented, "provided Nellie Douglas were willing."

"Oh, I don't care," answered Nellie, whose gay, dashing disposition
poorly accorded with the listless, sickly Mabel, and who felt it
rather a relief than otherwise to be rid of her.

So it was decided that she should stay at Maple Grove, and then Mrs.
Livingstone, passing her arm around her waist, whispered, "Go down
with me," at the same time starting for the parlor, followed by her
daughters, Nellie, and 'Lena. In the hall they met with John Jr. He
had heard Nellie's voice, and stationing himself at the head of the
stairs, was waiting her appearance.

"Miss Ross," said Mrs. Livingstone to her son, at the same time
indicating her willingness to give her into his care.

But John Jr. would not take the hint. Bowing stiffly to Mabel, he
passed on toward Nellie, in his eagerness stepping on Carrie's train
and drawing from her an exclamation of anger at his awkwardness.
Mrs. Livingstone glanced backward just in time to see the look of
affection with which her son regarded Nellie, as she placed her soft
hand confidingly upon his arm, and gazed upward smilingly into his
face. She dared not slight Miss Douglass in public, but with a
mental invective against her, she drew Mabel closer to her side, and
smoothing down the heavy folds of her _moire antique_, entered the
drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted, and filled with the
beauty and fashion of Lexington, Frankfort, and Versailles.

At the door they met Durward, who, as he took 'Lena's hand, said, "It
is well you remembered your promise, for I was about starting after
you." This observation did not escape Mrs. Livingstone, who, besid