They did not, however, say good-bye yet; they took a turn together
amongst the old familiar places, Miss Charlotte and Bessie resting
meanwhile in the great porch, and philosophizing on what they saw.

"Did you know grandpapa's wife--my grandmamma?" Bessie began by asking.

"Oh yes, my dear. She was a sprightly girl before she married, but all
her life after she went softly. Mr. Fairfax was not an unkind or
negligent husband, but there was something wanting. She was as unlike
Olympia as possible--very plain and simple in her tastes and appearance.
She kept much at home, and never sought to shine in society--for which,
indeed, she was not fitted--but she was a good woman and fond of her
children."

"And grandpapa was perfectly indifferent to her: it must have been
dreary work. Oh, what a pity that Lady Latimer did not care for him!"

"She did care for him very much."

"But if she cared for Umpleby more?"

Miss Charlotte sighed retrospectively and said, "Olympia was ambitious:
she is the same still--I see no change. She longed to live in the
world's eye and to have her fill of homage--for Nature had gifted her
with the graces and talents that adorn high station--but she was never a
happy woman, never satisfied or at peace with herself. She ardently
desired children, and none were given her. I have often thought that she
threw away substance for shadow--the true and lasting joys of life for
its vain glories. But she had what she chose, and if it disappointed her
she never confessed to her mistake or avowed a single regret. Her pride