"Yes, or _Helena_, which was her mother's name."

"And her mother was your sister, Helena Livingstone?"

"No, sir, Nichols. I changed my name to gratify a fancy of my wife,"
returned Mr. Livingstone, thinking it better to tell the truth at
once.

Again Mr. Graham bent over the cactus, inspecting it minutely, and
keeping his face for a long time concealed from his friend, whose
thoughts, as was usually the case when his sister was mentioned, were
far back in the past. When at last Mr. Graham lifted his head there
were no traces of the stormy emotions which had shaken his very
heart-strings, and with a firm, composed step he walked back to the
parlor, where he found both Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie just paying
their respects to his lady.

Nothing could be more marked than the difference between Carrie's and
'Lena's manner toward Mrs. Graham. Even Durward noticed it, and
while he could not sufficiently admire the quiet self-possession of
the latter, who in her simple morning wrapper and linen collar had
met his mother on perfectly equal terms, he for the first time in his
life felt a kind of contempt (pity he called it,) for Carrie, who, in
an elegantly embroidered double-gown confined by a rich cord and
tassels, which almost swept the floor, treated his mother with a
fawning servility as disgusting to him as it was pleasing to the lady
in question. Accustomed to the utmost deference on account of her
wealth and her husband's station, Mrs. Graham had felt as if
something were withheld from her, when neither Mrs. Livingstone nor
her daughters rushed to receive and welcome her; but now all was