nd-class, and
Aunt Victoria, talking to another lady in the carriage, happened to
mention that Beth was twelve years old. A gentleman, the only other
passenger, who was sitting opposite to Beth, looked up at her over his
newspaper when her age was mentioned, and remarked--"Are you only
twelve? I should have thought you were older. Rather nice-looking too,
only freckled."

Beth felt her face flush hotly, and then she laughed. "Nice-looking!
Nice-looking!" She repeated the words to herself again and again, and
every time they recurred to her, she lost countenance in spite of
herself, and laughed and flushed, being strangely surprised and
pleased.

It was that remark that first brought home to Beth the fact that she
had a personal appearance at all. Hitherto she had thought very little
of herself. The world without had been, and always would be, much more
to her than the world within. She was not to be one of those narrow,
self-centred, morbid beings whose days are spent in introspection, and
whose powers are wasted in futile efforts to set their own little
peculiarities forth in such a way as to make them seem of consequence.
She never at any time studied her own nature, except as a part of
human nature, and in the hope of finding in herself some clue which
would help her to a sympathetic understanding of other people.

Great-Aunt Victoria Bench, in these days of her poverty, lodged with
an old servant of the family, who gave her for ten shillings a week a
bedroom at the top of the house, and a little sunny sitting-room on
the ground-floor at the back, looking out into an old-fashioned
garden, full of flowers such as knights in olden times culled for
their ladies. The little sitting-room was furnished with Chippendale
chairs, and a little Chippendale sideboard with drawers, and a
bookcase with glass doors above and a cupboard below, in which Aunt
Victoria used to keep her stores of tea, coffee, sugar, and currants
in mustard-tins. Beth heard with surprise that the hearthrug was one
which Aunt Victoria had worked herself as a present for Prentice when
she married. Prentice was now Mrs. Pearce, but Aunt Victoria always
called her Prentice. The hearthrug was like a Turkey carpet, only
softer, deeper, and richer. Aunt Victoria had sat on Chippendale
chairs in her youth, and she was happy amongst them. When she sat down
on one she drew herself up, disdaining the stiff back and smiled and
felt young again, while her memory