Neither Mrs. Nichols nor Mrs. Livingstone had yet made their
appearance, but the latter soon came languidly in, wrapped in a
rose-colored shawl, which John Jr., said "she wore to give a delicate
tint to her yellow complexion." She was in the worst of humors,
having just been opening her husband's trunk, where she found the
numerous articles which had been stowed away by Nancy Scovandyke.
Very angrily she had ordered them removed from her sight, and at this
very moment the little negroes in the yard were playing with the
cracked bellows, calling them a "blubber," and filling them with
water to see it run out!

Except through the window, Mrs. Livingstone had not yet seen 'Lena,
and now dropping into her chair, she never raised her eyes until Anna
said, "Mother, mother, this is 'Lena. Look at her."

Thus importuned, Mrs. Livingstone looked up, and the frown with which
she was prepared to greet her niece softened somewhat, for 'Lena was
not a child to be looked upon and despised. Plain and humble as was
her dress, there was something in her fine, open face, which at once
interested and commanded respect, John Jr., had felt it; his father
had felt it; and his mother felt it too, but it awoke in her a
feeling of bitterness as she thought how the fair young girl before
her might in time rival her daughters. At a glance, she saw that
'Lena was beautiful, and that it was quite as much a beauty of
intellect as of feature and form.

"Yes," thought she, "husband was right when he said that, with the
same advantages, she'd soon outstrip her cousins--but it shall never
be--_never_," and the white teeth shut firmly together, as the cold,
proud woman bowed a welcome.