“I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, ’If you are the young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I will show you to your room.’

“I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber, with the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but would meet me at dinner.  The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of town, and would not return till evening.  After a very uncomfortable hour, during which I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to my position, the dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared to show me to the dining-room.

“Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand.  ‘My dear Miss Rankin!’ she exclaimed, ’I am most happy to see you.  I have heard George speak of you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative.  Come directly to the table.  I am sure you must be famished after your long ride.  I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once, and let me call you Fanny.  May I call you Cousin Fanny?’ she pursued, with an air of sweet condescension that was meant to be irresistible.

“‘As you please,’ I replied coldly.

“To which she quickly responded, ‘Oh, that will be delightful.’

“She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had time to look at her undisturbed.  She was tall and finely formed, with small delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every movement; a haughty sweetness that was perfectly indescribable.  She had very beautiful teeth, which she showed liberally when she smiled, and in her graver moments her slight features wore an imperturbable serenity, as if the round world contained nothing that was really worth her attention.  An animated statue, cold, polished, and pitiless! was my inward thought, as I bent over my dinner.

“When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of playful authority,

“’Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not do an earthly thing until teatime.  After that I have a thousand things to show you.’

“At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a costly residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas!  I already wearied of this icy splendour.  Every smile of my beautiful hostess (I could not now call her sister), every tone of her soft voice, every movement of her superb form, half queen-like dignity, half fawn-like grace—­seemed to place an insurmountable barrier between herself and me.  It was not that I thought more humbly of myself—­not that I did not even consider myself her equal—­but her dainty blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that almost made me shiver and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and said ’Good-night, dear,’ I felt as if even then separated from her real, living self, by a wall of freezing marble.

“‘Poor George!’ I said, as I retired to rest—­’You have wedded this soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.’