CHAPTER III.

"Poor silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;
Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow;
To whom the stars shine not so fair, as eyes;
Nor solid work, as false embroideries:

Hark and beware, lest what you now do measure,
And write for sweet, prove a most sour displeasure.”
GEORGE HERBERT.

EVELYN had been several days in her home, and was beginning to get accustomed to the difference in the ways and habits from all that she had been used to for so long. But there was one thing that distressed her, for which she saw no remedy. When first she arrived, she had followed Georgina's advice and thrown herself completely into her sisters' occupations and amusements. She played, and sang, and rode, and drove with them; she read aloud while they worked in the evening, she purposely remained in the room when their friends called, and tried to like them and to make them like her; and so far she succeeded in attaining her object. Her mother and sisters grew really fond of her. Mrs. Falconer said she was a sweet tempered, affectionate girl, so ready and obliging that everyone must love her. Augusta and Mary said, "home was quite a different thing with Evy," they turned to her for everything; if they played on the piano, it was much nicer to play duets with Evelyn than single pieces by themselves. If they walked

over to the Kynastons', Evelyn must come too because Harriet liked her so much, and had begged they would always bring her with them. Or if they drove into Wortley to buy a pattern for a new cushion that Augusta intended working, Evelyn must come and help to choose it, because she knew so much better than they did what colours worked well, and had such good taste-not that Evelyn's taste had much to do with the choice of the colours when they were once in the shop, for Augusta invariably ended by pleasing herself, whatever the opinion of the others might be.

Evelyn was glad to help them, she was pleased when they consulted her, and very happy when her mother kissed her and said what a comfort it was to have her at home again. But all these things took up a great deal of time, and she was rather disconcerted when she found that she had no leisure for reading, and that when she reached her room, usually after eleven o'clock, and not unfrequently nearer twelve, at night, she was so wearied with the fatigue and excitement of the day, that she could not compose her thoughts, or concentrate them upon her evening devotions, as she had been accustomed to do.

This distressed her greatly. She would have borne the fatigue and weariness cheerfully, but she felt frightened when her thoughts were confused, and she could not feel that her whole heart was responding to the words her lips uttered. It was in vain that she endeavoured to escape from the drawing-room before her sisters retired, Augusta always wanted her particularly to stay till they went, because then they could have a nice little chat over their bed-room fire, and if Evelyn contrived to escape when she reached her own door, Augusta would look annoyed, and say she wished she was not always so tired at night, and that what

was rest enough for them must surely be rest enough for her, and then Evelyn felt as if it were ill-natured to persist in having her own way. Once or twice she tried to rise earlier, but she felt so sleepy and heavy, and so invariably got a headache, that she was forced to give it up.

She could scarcely bear to think of all her favourite schemes for doing good, and a moment's reflection showed her that it would be wrong as well as foolish, to undertake any new duties and responsibilities, when she had not time for those which lay in her path. It would have been a great comfort to have opened her heart to Georgina, and asked her advice; but Evelyn had a strong feeling against discussing her family in any way, and she could not have told her own difficulties without laying them open to criticism, and so she was forced to keep her own counsel, and hide all her troubles and anxieties in her own heart.

It was true that it was rather soon to despair. Her sisters might grow accustomed to her, and when the first novelty had worn off, they might care less about her partaking in all their plans and pursuits. But Evelyn did not think it would be so, and she could scarcely wish that such should be the case; it was very pleasant to feel that they loved and valued her, and that she was of use to them, and not a nonentity in her home. It was pleasant to hear them say that the evenings were much more cheerful than they had been before her return, and although the reading which she had proposed, and which she often continued for hours together almost without intermission made her chest sore and her head ache, and although she had not the satisfaction of feeling that it was improving either herself or them, (for Augusta and Mary had loudly protested against any deeper books than the Waverley Novels,) still it must be a good thing,

as it made their evenings more cheerful and interesting, and was to a certain extent a bond of union to the whole party, especially when, as was not unfrequently the case, Mr. Falconer would lay down his newspaper and draw his chair closer to the table to hear what his little Evy was reading about. The root of the evil was not as yet discovered by Evelyn. It was selfishness. Mrs. Falconer was selfish, and she had made her daughters so likewise. Had they been otherwise they would not have been contented with being happy and pleased themselves, but they would have endeavoured to make Evelyn so also. They would have tried to discover whether anything they could do would conduce to her pleasure and comfort; whether the life they led, and the objects and occupations that amused themselves were equally interesting to her. But Augusta and Mary, and indeed Mrs. Falconer also, had never imagined the possibility of Evelyn's tastes being at variance with their own. When Evelyn returned, their one thought had been whether she would be such as they desired to see her, an agreeable companion, and an elegant addition to their dances and soirées. Mrs. Falconer wondered whether she would be lady-like and graceful, and hoped she would be pretty and tolerably accomplished, because then there would be some prospect of her "settling well." She had always been brought up herself to look upon marriage as the great end for which talents and accomplishments were to be cultivated in young ladies, therefore there was more excuse for her than for those mothers who having been blessed with a far better and truer education themselves fall wantonly into this fatal error. And although she had never said to her daughters, "It is because I intend you to marry well that I spend so much on your education," Augusta and Mary were quite

aware that it was their mother's one great object in life that they should do so, and they were equally determined that it should be through no fault of their own if they did not succeed. But all this was hidden in their own hearts, neither spoke to the other about it, and nothing was ever said or done that would let a casual observer into

the secret. There were no glaring flirtations, no improper forwardness-both would have been shocked at the idea of such a thing. But they were not the less determined on gaining their object, they were not the less watchful to allow no favourable opportunity of furthering it, to escape. The difference was this-they did in a deliberate lady-like way what hundreds of others do openly and unblushingly, and although Mrs. Falconer, as far as lay in her power, threw opportunities in their way, and by her judicious management contrived that their intentions should not be frustrated, no one would have dreamt of calling her a scheming mother, or a matchmaker.

But this under-current was as yet unknown to Evelyn. She would have been frightened to think such things of her mother and sisters. Brought up under Miss Templeman's strict watchful eye, with Mrs. Layton's equally strict, but more mild and affectionate surveillance, and Georgina Berkeley's pure elevating friendship, she was comparatively ignorant of what, alas! to worldly-minded, and worldly-educated young ladies is as familiar as their alphabet, or the first lessons of their childhood. Or, if she had heard of such things among the companions with whom she was associated at Redbourn, she had imagined them as only existing amongst those who knew no better, and had never had things put before them in a true light, and thought them only to be pitied and not condemned. That her mother or sisters, or any that she loved