uspicion that it was Stephen French who had
waked her from her domestic coma.

Poor sleeping beauty, her conscience had long ago been pricked by her
mother-in-law's spindle, and her whole moral sense infected with the
belief that to keep house wisely was the end and aim of wifely duty.
She reverenced Simeon for his learning and dignity, and felt proud
that so simple a person as herself should have been chosen in marriage
by a professor of Harmouth. On that she had existed for two years, and
now she was waking up to new needs that stirred her like the prince's
kiss.

Life in the young Minthrops' dovecote soon settled down into a
glorified routine. The elder Mrs. Minthrop returned to Boston, leaving
Deena as her lieutenant, and perplexing her with the multiplicity of
her charges; apparently Mrs. Ponsonby was to be Providence to her
sister, with health and happiness under her control. The situation was
paradoxical. Polly was to be denied nothing, but not allowed to have
her own way too freely; she was to be kept amused, but most amusements
were strictly prohibited--she was not to be encouraged to think
herself an invalid, and at the same time her usual occupations were
taken from her. Deena was wise enough to listen and make no promises,
and when she assumed command she contented herself with trying to
stand between her sister and domestic worries.

Christmas came and went without the visit from Stephen, which Ben had
hoped for, and invitations were pouring in for the plethora of social
functions that mark the season's height. Deena came in for her share,
but she felt too much of a stranger to venture alone into the vortex.
Polly entertained in a modest way at home--a few people at dinner, a
friend or two at lunch--and this Deena greatly enjoyed, and had begun
to make herself favorably known to a small circle when a stop was put
to this mild dissipation. The great doctor, who had been charged by
Mrs. Minthrop never to forget her daughter-in-law's inexperience,
issued orders that Polly was to stay in her room. This enforced quiet
found an outlet in a desire to send Deena everywhere. She drove her
forth to dinners and balls, and the high-stepping gray horse was
always at her service, and so the beautiful Mrs. Ponsonby became the
fashion. New York does not ask too many questions in these days about
the husbands of handsome married women who appear as grass widows in
its midst; indeed, the suspicion of a latent romance or s