Margaret The Churchwoman, Her Father The Dissenter,

People May Flatter Themselves Just As Much By Thinking That Their Faults Are Always Present To Other People's Minds, As If They Believe That The World Is Always Contemplating Their Individual Charms And Virtues.

There Was A Filmy Veil Of Soft Dull Mist Obscuring, But Not Hiding, All Objects, Giving Them A Lilac Hue, For The Sun Had Not Yet Fully Set; A Robin Was Singing ... The Leaves Were More Gorgeous Than Ever; The First Touch Of Frost Would Lay Them All Low To The Ground. Already One Or Two Kept Constantly Floating Down, Amber And Golden In The Low Slanting Sun-rays.

Margaret Liked This Smile; It Was The First Thing She Had Admired In This New Friend Of Her Father's; And The Opposition Of Character, Shown In All These Details Of Appearance She Had Just Been Noticing, Seemed To Explain The Attraction They Evidently Felt Towards Each Other.

To Be Sure A Stepmother To A Girl Is A Different Thing To A Second Wife To A Man!

Did I Ever Say An Engagement Was An Elephant, Madam?