s half careless about the
accommodation. They continually pulled against each other; but the
husband was insensible to the chain which galled the wife to the
quick. Yet Mr. Winston possessed qualities, which only required to be
known to be beloved, and if Gertrude was ignorant of them, it was in
no small degree her own fault. And she had not, like Mrs. Pendarrel,
to contend with the memory of a previous attachment.

But, however bitter might be the feelings with which she contemplated
her own position, there was one dear affection which she cherished
with the utmost fondness. Nothing could exceed her solicitude to
preserve her sister from the snares into which she had fallen herself.
She kept a watchful eye upon all the society especially favoured by
her mother, and observed Mildred's feelings with the warmest
interest. And she was met in the same spirit. Sisterly love was the
one humanizing tie in that broken family.

Each sister possessed great personal attractions; but though their
features were strikingly alike, the character written on their faces
was by no means the same. Gertrude's showed haughty indifference,
Mildred's wishful thoughtfulness. The elder's smile was generally
sarcastic, the younger's sympathetic. Knowledge of her situation, and
consciousness that others knew it, flashed in defiance from the dark
eyes of Mrs. Winston, and lent a _hardiesse_ to her tongue, which
occasionally seemed unfeminine. Trust and hope beamed from beneath the
long lashes of Miss Pendarrel, and her speech was commonly soft and
gentle; but in society she was lively and witty, and there was a
spirit lurking in her heart, which might one day confound even her
mother.

Coming one day about this time to May Fair, Gertrude found a gentleman
of her acquaintance sitting with Mrs. Pendarrel and Mildred.

"Dear mamma," Mrs. Winston said, as she entered, "I am come to claim
Mildred for an hour's drive.--Delighted to see you, Mr. Melcomb. You
can settle a little dispute for me. 'Tis about the colour of the
Valdespini's eyes."

"I would prefer to leave it to Mr. Winston," answered Melcomb. "He has
some strange theory about colours, that they are in the eyes of the
seer and not in the seen. It is dangerous to speak after such an
authority. Your best referee is at home, Mrs. Winston."

"Not so," said the lady, "for he is one of the disputants. One said
blue, another grey. None agreed. Some one suggested a reference to
you, and it was