but all this for the littleness
of society." This train of thought led her back to the days of
their girlhood, and she remembered how the same desire to outshine
manifested itself in Helen's childhood. If Mr. Stokes had been there
he could have told her of the pink gingham, with her grandmother's
injudicious remark thereupon--"Be content with the pink gingham _now_,
Helen--_the time will come when you shall have a better_;" instead
of--"Be always content, Helen, with what befits your sphere of life."

That day was an eventful one to Rose. In the evening she was seated
opposite the window, observing the lamplighter flying along with his
ladder and his link through the increasing fog, and wondering why the
dinner was delayed so much beyond the usual hour--when the little old
cranky gentleman, whose keen and clever observations had given Rose a
very good idea of his _head_, and a very bad one of his heart, stood
beside her. In a few brief words he explained, that seeing she was
different to London ladies, he had come to the determination of making
her his wife. He did not seem to apprehend any objection on her part
to this arrangement; but having concluded the business in as few words
as possible, stood, with his hands behind him, very much as if he
expected the lady he addressed to express her gratitude, and suffer
him to name the day. Firmly and respectfully Rose declined the honour,
declaring "she had no heart to give," and adding a few civil words of
thanks to the old gentleman, who would have evinced more sense had he
proposed to adopt, not marry her. Without a reply, the old gentleman
left the room; but presently her cousin entered, and in terms of
bitter scorn, inquired if she were mad enough to refuse such an
offer--one that would immediately take her out of her humble sphere,
and place her where she might be happy. Rose replied, with more than
usual firmness, that she had learned, since she had been with her,
the total insufficiency of rank and power to produce happiness. "I am
convinced," she continued, "that it is the most likely to dwell where
there are the fewest cares, and that the straining after distinction
is at variance with its existence. To be useful, and fulfil well
the duties of our native sphere, is the surest way to be happy. Oh!
Helen, you do not know what it is; you look too much to the future to
enjoy the present; and I have observed it ever since you threw away
the handful of jessamine we had g