was always a welcome guest, and where his Aunt Lucy petted him, if
possible, more than did his Aunt Hannah.

And sweet Lucy Grey, in her trailing dress of rich, black silk, with
ruffles of soft lace at her throat and wrists, and costly diamonds on
her white fingers, made a picture perfectly harmonious with Grey's
natural taste and ideas of a lady. She was lovely as are the pictures of
Murillo's Madonnas, and Grey, who knew her story, reverenced her as
something saintly and pure above any woman he had ever known. And here,
perhaps, as well as elsewhere, we may very briefly tell her story, in
order that the reader may better understand her character.




CHAPTER III.

LUCY.


She was five years older than her sister Geraldine, and between the two
there had been a brother--Robert, or Robin, as he was familiarly
called--a little blue-eyed, golden-haired boy, with a face always
wreathed in smiles, and a mouth which seemed made to kiss and be kissed
in return. He was three years younger than Lucy, who, having been petted
so long as the only child, looked somewhat askance at the brother who
had come to interfere with her, and as he grew older, and developed that
wonderful beauty and winning sweetness for which he was so remarkable,
the demon of jealousy took possession of the little girl, who felt at
times as if she hated him for the beauty she envied so much.