matter as to which the father had not given himself proper
opportunities of learning the facts. An aunt in his close
neighbourhood was so great a comfort to him,--so ready and so
natural an assistance to him in his difficulties! But Emily
Wharton was not in the least like her aunt, nor had Mrs Wharton
been at all like Mrs Roby. No doubt the contact was dangerous.
Injury had perhaps already been done. It may be that some
slightest soil had already marred the pure white of the girl's
natural character. But if so, the stain was yet too impalpable
to be visible to ordinary eyes.

Emily Wharton was a tall fair girl, with grey eyes, rather
exceeding the average proportions as well as height of women.
Her features were regular and handsome, and her form was perfect,
but it was by her manner and her voice that she conquered, rather
than by her beauty,--by those gifts and by a clearness of
intellect joined with that feminine sweetness which has its most
frequent foundation in self-denial. Those who knew her well, and
had become attached to her, were apt to endow her with all
virtues, and to give her credit for a loveliness which strangers
did not find on her face. But as we do not light up our houses
with our brightest lamps for all comers, so neither did she emit
from her eyes their brightest sparks till special occasion for
such shining had arisen. To those who were allowed to love her
no woman was more lovable. There was innate in her an
appreciation of her own position as a woman, and with it a
principle of self-denial as a human being, which it was beyond
the power of any Mrs Roby to destroy or even defile by small
stains.