sublime to ridiculous, that no one could have wished one feature
otherwise. And if instead of being "like the diamond bright," they had
been "dull as lead," it would have been little matter to Alex.
Beatrice had been, she was still, his friend, his own cousin, more than
what he could believe a sister to be if he had one,--in short his own
little Queen Bee. He had had a monopoly of her; she had trained him in
all the civilization which he possessed, and it was with considerable
mortification that he thought himself lowered in her eyes by comparison
with his old rival, as old a friend of hers, with the same claim to
cousinly affection; and instead of understanding only what she had
taught him, familiar with the tastes and pursuits on which she set
perhaps too great a value.

Fred did not care nearly as much for Beatrice's preference: it might be
that he took it as a matter of course, or perhaps that having a sister
of his own, he did not need her sympathy, but still it was a point on
which he was likely to be sensitive, and thus her favour was likely to
be secretly quite as much a matter of competition as their school
studies and pastimes.

For instance, dinner was over, and Henrietta was admiring some choice
books of prints, such luxuries as Uncle Geoffrey now afforded himself,
and which his wife and daughter greatly preferred to the more costly
style of living which some people thought befitted them. She called to
her brother who was standing by the fire, "Fred, do come and look at
this beautiful Albert Durer of Sintram."

He hesitated, doubting whether Alexander would scorn him for an
acquaintance with Albert Durer, but Beatrice added, "Yes, it was an old
promise that I would show it to you. There now, look, admire, or be