girls appeared to be, it was strange how friends sprang up for them. Mrs. Palmer was their good genius in common life, while Amenaide was the fairy that led them through the charmed regions of romance, and of music. It was curious to mark the attraction that invariably seems to exist between opposite natures. Helen, the most enthusiastic, the most highly-toned of the family, was the favourite with the practical and sober-minded Mrs. Palmer; while Isabella, the more shrewd, sensible, and firm, was the favourite with the romantic and pensive stranger—and devotedly was her attachment repaid. Always kept in the background, and undervalued by Lady Anne, who disliked the spirit of active usefulness which characterized her youngest daughter, this was the first time that Isabella had been loved for herself; and she requited it—as love is returned in youth, and youth only—grateful, eager, and undoubting.
It was now two years since they had seen her; the villa had been let for the last two autumns to other occupants. Deep had been the disappointment, when, turning their steps in the accustomed direction, they saw the quiet and secluded cottage, where hours had passed like a dream of poetry, a scene of noise and bustle. The blinds were drawn up, the plants removed from the steps, and the lawn occupied by some six or seven children, who, if they came to Brighton for their health, had, at all events, a good stock on hand to begin with. From that time they had heard
