'No, and you never will know enough of her to say such savage things
as I do,' said Elizabeth, 'but at any rate you saw her when she came
in.'

'Certainly.'

'I mean the kissing; I am sure I am glad enough to escape it, and
always think Mamma and the children seem to be hugged by a bear; but
you know making such distinctions is not the way to make us like her,
even if we were so disposed. Oh! and about me in particular, I am
convinced that she thinks that Mamma hates me as much as she does,
for she seems to think it will delight her to hear that I am thinner
than ever, and that such bright colour is a very bad sign, and then
she finishes off with a hypocritical sigh, and half whisper of "It
can be no wonder, poor thing!" trying to put everyone, especially
Papa and Uncle Edward, in mind of my own poor mother. I declare I
have no patience with her or Harriet, or that ugly little wretch of a
dog!'

In the mean time, Katherine and Helen were visiting their guests,
Harriet and Lucy Hazleby, whom, contrary to Elizabeth's arrangement,
Mrs. Woodbourne had lodged in the room where her own two little girls
usually slept. Harriet was sitting at the table, at her ease,
curling her long cork-screw ringlets, with Fido at her feet; Lucy was
unpacking her wardrobe, Katherine lighting her, and admiring each
article as it was taken out, in spite of her former disapprobation of
Harriet's style of dress. Helen stood lingering by the door, with
her hand on the lock, still listening or talking, though not much
interested, and having already three times wished her guests good
night. Their conversation, though not worth recording for any sense