her; proud of her home, of her blood, and of her son,
and determined, if she could manage it, to break off
his attachment for Jane, no matter at what cost.
This last Lucy caught from a peculiar look in the
little old woman's eyes and a slightly scornful curve
of the lower lip as she listened to Jane's talk about
the hospital, all of which was lost on "plain Jane
Cobden," as the doctor's mother invariably called
her sister behind her back.

Then the young mind-reader turned her attention
to the house and grounds and the buildings lying
above and before her, especially to the way the
matted vines hung to the porches and clambered over
the roof and dormers. Later on she listened to Mrs.
Cavendish's description of its age and ancestry: How
it had come down to her from her grandfather, whose
large estate was near Trenton, where as a girl she
had spent her life; how in those days it was but a
small villa to which old Nicholas Erskine, her great-
uncle, would bring his guests when the August days
made Trenton unbearable; and how in later years
under the big trees back of the house and over the
lawn--"you can see them from where you sit, my
dear"--tea had been served to twenty or more of
"the first gentlemen and ladies of the land."

Jane had heard it all a dozen times before, and
so had every other visitor at Rose Cottage, but to
Lucy it was only confirmation of her latter-day opinion