convention in the top of the poor head, and held an indignation
meeting; at such times Mrs. Murray was obliged to retreat to her own
room. The increasing frequency of these attacks furnished her with an
excellent reason for withdrawing herself from society almost
entirely. She was not strong enough to entertain company. She was not
strong enough even to attend church habitually. Her strength must all
be given to her house and her table, for she was one of those
housekeepers who consider economy out of place here; the cakes and
pies and knick-knacks were counted a necessity, as well as more
substantial food. Don't say Mr. Murray should not have chosen such a
wife. He did not. This gloomy, fault-finding woman, bore no
resemblance to the sweet, bright girl, he married. It had all come
about so gradually that neither realized the great change.

Ralph, the only son, a fine, tall young man, just out of his teens,
had lately been taken into his father's firm. He was noble and true,
though in a little danger on account of his fondness for company,
which, not being gratified at home, was taking him away from its safe
boundaries to clubs, and questionable company and amusements, much
more than pleased his father; but Ralph declared he must have some
pleasure--"didn't want to mope in his room alone after being hard at
work all day. As for home, there was nothing there, not even a good
place to read--gas at the top of the wall in the dingy old
dining-room, and the girls always out--or out of humour; he could do
no better." Mr. Murray was uneasy: "Their home was sort of dismal;
what was the matter?" The two daughters, just coming up to womanhood,
also missed many of the pleasant surroundings and sweet sympathy that
other girls seemed to have in their homes. With all her toil and
doing, Mrs. Murray was letting her children slip, as it were, through
her fingers. The house was well furnished, but there was no room