Nobody

"Why not?"

"It was one of the reasons why I did not want to accept Mrs. Barclay'sinvitation last winter, that I knew he would be visiting herconstantly. I did not expect to see him here much." Lois looked grave.

"What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't one have the pleasure?For it is a pleasure; his talk is so bright, and his manner is so verykind and graceful; and he is so kind. He is going to take me to driveagain."

"You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that enough?"

"It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said, laughing again. "Mr.Dillwyn talks, something one likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tellsme about old families, and where they used to live, and where they livenow; what do I care about old New York families! And Mr. Dillwyn letsme talk. I never have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart; shedoes it all."

"I would rather have you go driving with her, though."

"Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go with Mr. Dillwyn."

"Don't like it too well."

"How can I like it too well?"

"So much that you would miss it, when you do not have it any longer."

"Miss it!" said Madge, half angrily. "I might miss it, as I mightmiss any pleasant thing; but I could stand that. I'm not a chicken justout of the egg. I have missed things before now, and it hasn't killedme."

"Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a question of how much youcan stand. But the men like – like this one – are so pleasant with theirgraceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you and me might easilybe drawn on, without knowing it, further than they want to go."

"He does not want to draw anybody on!" said Madge indignantly.

"That's the very thing. You might think – or I might think – thatpleasant manner means something; and it don't mean anything."

"I don't want it to 'mean anything,' as you say; but what has our beingcountry girls to do with it?"

"We are not accustomed to that sort of society, and so it makes, Isuppose, more impression. And what might mean something to others, would not to us. From such men, I mean."

"What do you mean by 'such men'?" asked Madge, who was getting ratherexcited.

"Rich – fashionable – belonging to the great world, and having the waysof it. You know what Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have inShainpuashuh."

"But, Lois! – what are you talking about? I don't care a red cent forall this, but I want to understand. You said such a manner would meannothing to us."

"Yes."

"Why not to us, as well as anybody else?"

"Because we are nobodies, Madge."

"What do you mean?" said the other hotly.

"Just that. It is quite true. You are nobody, and I am nobody. You see,if we were somebody, it would be different."

"If you think – I'll tell you what, Lois! I think you are fit to be thewife of the best man that lives and breathes."

"I think so myself," Lois returned quietly.

"And I am."

"I think you are, Madge. But that makes no difference. My dear, we arenobody."

"How?" – impatiently. "Isn't our family as respectable as anybody's?

Haven't we had governors and governors, of Massachusetts and

Connecticut both; and judges and ministers, ever so many, among our ancestors? And didn't a half-dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the

'Mayflower'?"

"Yes, Madge; all true; and I am as glad of it as you are."

"Then you talk nonsense!"

"No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I have seen a little moreof the world than you have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but alittle more than you; and I know what I am talking about. We areunknown, we are not rich, we have none of what they call 'connections.'So you see I do not want you to like too much a person who, beyondcivility, and kindness perhaps, would never think of liking you."

"I don't want him to, that's one thing," said Madge. "But if all thatis true, he is meaner than I think him; that's what I've got to say.And it is a mean state of society where all that can be true."

"I suppose it is human nature," said Lois.

"It's awfully mean human nature!"

"I guess there is not much true nobleness but where the religion of

Christ comes in. If you have got that, Madge, be content and thankful."

"But nobody likes to be unjustly depreciated."

"Isn't that pride?"

"One must have some pride. I can't make religion everything, Lois. Iwas a woman before I was a Christian."

"If you want to be a happy woman, you will let religion be everything."

"But, Lois! – wouldn't you like to be rich, and have pretty thingsabout you?"

"Don't ask me," said Lois, smiling. "I am a woman too, and dearly fondof pretty things. But, Madge, there is something else I love better,"she added, with a sudden sweet gravity; "and that is, the will of myGod. I would rather have what he chooses to give me. Really and truly;I would rather have that."

The conversation therewith was at an end. In the evening of that sameday Lois left her seclusion and came down-stairs for the first time.She was languid enough yet to be obliged to move slowly, and her cheekshad not got back their full colour, and were thinner than they used tobe; otherwise she looked well, and Mrs. Wishart contemplated her withgreat satisfaction. Somewhat to Lois's vexation, or she thought so, they found Mr. DilIwyn down-stairs also. Lois had the invalid's placeof honour, in a corner of the sofa, with a little table drawn up forher separate tea; and Madge and Mr. Dillwyn made toast for her at thefire. The fire gave its warm light, the lamps glittered with a morebrilliant illumination; ruddy hues of tapestry and white gleams fromsilver and glass filled the room, with lights and shadows everywhere, that contented the eye and the imagination too, with suggestions ofluxury and plenty and sheltered comfort. Lois felt the shelter and thecomfort and the pleasure, with that enhanced intensity which belongs toone's sensations in a state of convalescence, and in her case washeightened by previous experiences. Nestled among cushions in hercorner, she watched everything and took the effect of every detail; tasted every flavour of the situation; but all with a thoughtful, wordless gravity; she hardly spoke at all.

After tea, Mr. Dillwyn and Madge sat down to the chess-board. And thenLois's attention fastened upon them. Madge had drawn the little tablethat held the chessmen into very close proximity to the sofa, so thatshe was just at Lois's hand; but then her whole mind was bent upon thegame, and Lois could study her as she pleased. She did study Madge. Sheadmired her sister's great beauty; the glossy black hair, the delicateskin, the excellent features, the pretty figure. Madge was veryhandsome, there was no doubt; Mr. Dillwyn would not have far to look,Lois thought, to find one handsomer than herself was. There was afrank, fine expression of face, too; and manners thoroughly good. Theylacked some of the quietness of long usage, Lois thought; a quick lookor movement now and then, or her eager eyes, or an abrupt tone ofvoice, did in some measure betray the country girl, to whom everythingwas novel and interesting; and distinguished her from the half blasé,wholly indifferent air of other people. She will learn that quietnesssoon enough, thought Lois; and then, nothing could be left to desire inMadge. The quietness had always been a characteristic of Lois herself; partly difference of temperament, partly the sweeter poise of Lois'smind, had made this difference between the sisters; and now of courseLois had had more experience of people and the world. But it was not inher the result of experience, this fair, unshaken balance of mind andmanner which was always a charm in her. However, this by the way; thegirl herself was drawing no comparisons, except so far as to judge hersister handsomer than herself.

From Madge her eye strayed to Mr. Dillwyn, and studied him. She waslying back a little in shadow, and could do it safely. He was teachingMadge the game; and Lois could not but acknowledge and admire in himthe finished manner she missed in her sister. Yes, she could not helpadmiring it. The gentle, graceful, easy way, in which he directed her, gave reproofs and suggestions about the game, and at the same time keptup a running conversation with Mrs. Wishart; letting not one thinginterfere with another, nor failing for a moment to attend to bothladies. There was a quiet perfection about the whole home picture; itremained in Lois's memory for ever. Mrs. Wishart sat on an oppositesofa knitting; not a long blue stocking, like her dear grandmother, buta web of wonderful hues, thick and soft, and various as the feathers ona peacock's neck. It harmonized with all the rest of the room, wherewarmth and colour and a certain fulness of detail gave the impressionof long-established easy living. The contrast was very strong withLois's own life surroundings; she compared and contrasted, and was notquite sure how much of this sort of thing might be good for her.However, for the present here she was, and she enjoyed it. Then shequeried if Mr. Dillwyn were enjoying it. She noticed the hand which hehad run through the locks of his hair, resting his head on the hand. Itwas well formed, well kept; in that nothing remarkable; but there was acertain character of energy in the fingers which did not look like thehand of a lazy man. How could he spend his life so in doing nothing?She did not fancy that he cared much about the game, or much about thetalk; what was he there for, so often? Did he, possibly, care aboutMadge? Lois's thoughts came back to the conversation.

"Mrs. Wishart, what is to be done with the poor of our city?" Mr.