voice had a gravity and a depth which made it sound years older than that of the elder sister.
"I know you do—and that's a lot to say of anyone. How's your health, my dear? It's very good to see you after all these months."
Chattering all the time with the artlessness of a nature wholly different from that of her visitor, Eliza Kelly took the kettle from the hob and made the tea.
Beyond a superficial general likeness there was nothing to suggest the near relationship of these two. The air and manner which invested the well-made coat and skirt, the lady-like muff and stole, with a dignity rather austere, were not to be found in the unpretentious front parlor opening on to the street, or in its brisk, voluble, easy-going mistress.
"Harriet, you are really all right again?" Eliza impulsively poured out the tea before it had time to brew, thereby putting herself to the trouble of returning it to the pot.
"Oh, yes." Harriet removed her gloves elegantly. She was quite a striking-looking creature of nine-and-twenty. In spite of a recent illness, she had an air of strength and virility. The face and brow had been cast in a mold of serious beauty, the eyes, a clear deep gray, were strongholds of good sense. Even without the aid of a considered, rather formidable manner, this young woman would have exacted respect anywhere.
"Take a muffin while it's warm."
Harriet did so.
"I had no idea your illness was going to be so bad."
The younger woman would not own that her illness
