"Mark's favorite," he said, lifting up a volume of Schiller, and turning
to the fly-leaf he read, "Helen Lennox, from Cousin Morris," just as
Katy returned and with her Helen, whom she presented to the stranger.

Helen was prepared to like him just because Katy did, and her first
thought was that he was splendid-looking, but when she met fully his
cold glance and knew how closely he was scrutinizing her, there arose
in her heart a feeling of dislike for Wilford Cameron, which she could
never wholly conquer. He was very polite to her, but something in his
manner annoyed and provoked her, it was so cool, so condescending, as
if he endured her merely because she was Katy's sister, nothing more.

"Rather pretty, more character than Katy, but odd, and self-willed, with
no kind of style."

This was Wilford's running comment on Helen as he took her in from the
plain arrangement of her dark hair to the fit of her French calico and
the cut of her linen Collar.

Fashionable dress would improve her very much, he thought, turning from
her with a feeling of relief to Katy, whom nothing could disfigure, and
who was now watching the door eagerly for the entrance of her mother.
That lady had spent a good deal of time at her toilet, and she came in
at last, flurried, fidgety, and very red, both from exercise and the
bright-hued ribbons streaming from her cap and sadly at variance with
the color of her dress. Wilford noticed the discrepancy at once, and
noticed too how little style there was about the nervous woman greeting
him so deferentially and evidently regarding him as something infinitely
superior to herself. Wilford had looked with indifference upon Helen,
but it would take a stronger word to express his opinion of the mother.