so full of _esprit_ that I was again smitten
with my inferiority, and from this time I felt a respect for her,
which never declined, although she married an Englishman, who, too
choleric to live in America, took her to Florence, where they settled
with their own towels and silver, and are likely to remain, for her
heart is too narrow to comprise any further interest in Belem.

Miss Hiticutt chatted herself out, giving us an invitation to tea, for
any day, including Ben and Miss Ann, who had not been visible since
breakfast.

April rains kept us indoors for several days. Ann refused to go to
school. She must have a holiday; besides, pa needed her; she alone
could take care of him, after all. Her mother said that she must go.

"Who can make me, mum?"

Desmond ordered the coach for her. When it was ready he put her in it,
seated himself beside her, with provoking nonchalance, and carried her
to school. Murphy, with his velvet-banded hat, left her satchel at the
door, with a ceremonious air, which made Ann slap his cheek and call
him an old grimalkin. But she was obliged to walk home in the rain,
after waiting an hour for him to come back.

Mr. Somers hobbled about his room, with the help of his cane, and said
that he should be out soon, and requested Adelaide to put in order
some book-shelves that were in the third story, for he wanted to
read without confusion. We went there together, and sorted some odd
volumes; piles of Unitarian sermons, bound magazines, political works,
and a heap of histories. Ben found a seat on a bunch of books, pleased
to see us together.

"This is a horrid hole," he said. "I have not been up in this floor
for ages. How do the shelves look?"

A hiccough near us caused us to look toward the door.

"It is only Des, in his usual afternoon trim," said Ben.

She nodded, as he pushed open the door, thrusting in his head. "What
the hell are you doing here? This region is sacred to Chaos and old
Night," striking the panels, first one and then the other, with the
tassels of his dressing-gown. No one answered him. Adelaide counted a
row of books, and Ben whistled.

"Damn you, Ben," he said, in a languid voice: "you never seem bored.
Curse you all. I hate ye, especially that she-Calmuck yonder--that
Siberian-steppe-natured, malachite-hearted girl, our sister."

"Oh come away, Mr. Desmond. What are the poor things doing that you
should harry them?" and the woman who had brought in the baby the d