The Misses Bonderlay, it seems, had attained the age of womanhood,
when, by the decease of their surviving parent, a man of high moral
rectitude, but a stern disciplinarian, they were left in possession of
a comfortable independence, fully equal to their moderate wants. They
had been governed with such an iron rule, and treated as such absolute
automata from their childhood, that when the hand of death released
them from the despotic sway, its effects still continued apparent in
the constraint which habit had rendered second nature. They continued
to reside in their native town, only removing to a smaller house, and
pursued undeviatingly the routine they had always been accustomed
to--a routine which might well bear comparison, in its monotony and
apathy, with that of monastic seclusion. Rumour, with her thousand
tongues, had never singled out these vestal ladies as objects of
matrimonial schemes; no suitors darkened their doors or disturbed
their peace; they made no enemies, and, perhaps, no very enthusiastic
friends. They listened to the gossip retailed by their neighbours, as
in politeness bound, but the imperturbable 'Really!' Indeed!' and
'Impossible!' gave no encouragement to gossip: they never asked
questions, never propagated reports, but listened and ejaculated, and
ejaculated and listened, giving and receiving no offence. It never was
positively ascertained whether the Misses Bonderlay conversed among
themselves; but popular opinion maintained, that they did not,
assigning the ill-natured reason, that they had nothing to say. Being
neither oral inquirers nor readers, what could they have to talk
about? Still, popular opinion is often wrong, and perhaps it was so in
this instance. At anyrate, if they did not exchange confidential
sentiments, quarrels were avoided; and smoothly the three fair sisters
sailed down the troublous stream of time.

It was a great and stirring event in their tranquil lives, when a