gentleman's demure young wife, a sweet hostess, and, as ever, a true
friend: something of a miracle to one who had inclined to make a heroine
of her while imagining himself to accurately estimate her deficiencies.
Honourably by this marriage the lady paid for such wild oats as she had
sown in youth.

There were joy-bells for Robert and Rhoda, but none for Dahlia and
Edward.

Dahlia lived seven years her sister's housemate, nurse of the growing
swarm. She had gone through fire, as few women have done in like manner,
to leave their hearts among the ashes; but with that human heart she left
regrets behind her. The soul of this young creature filled its place.
It shone in her eyes and in her work, a lamp to her little neighbourhood;
and not less a lamp of cheerful beams for one day being as another to
her. In truth, she sat above the clouds. When she died she relinquished
nothing. Others knew the loss. Between her and Robert there was deeper
community on one subject than she let Rhoda share. Almost her last words
to him, spoken calmly, but with the quaver of breath resembling sobs,
were: "Help poor girls."