deepened at the thought, "What would Vinton Arnold, what would
his mother think if they saw me now? The latter would undoubtedly
remark," she murmured, in bitterness of spirit, "that I had at
last found my true sphere, and was engaged in befitting tasks; but
should I lose in his eyes?"

Indeed she would not, either in his eyes or in those of any other
man capable of appreciating womanly grace. Genuine beauty is a
rare and wonderful gift, and, like genius, triumphs over adverse
circumstances, and is often enhanced by them. Even prosaic Mrs.
Wheaton was compelled to pause from time to time to admire the
slender, supple form whose perfect outlines were revealed by the
stooping, twisting, and reaching required by the nature of the
labor. But the varying expressions of her face, revealing a mind
as active as the busy hands, were a richer study. The impact of
her brush was vigorous, and with looks of aversion and disgust she
would cleanse away the grimy stains as if they were an essential
part of the moral as well as gross material life of the former
occupants. To a refined nature association forms no slight element
in the constitution of a home; and horrible conjectures concerning
repulsive indications of the vulgar people who once kennelled
where others would live decently and purely are among the manifold
miseries of tenement life. In spite of all her will-power, Mildred
shuddered, and shrank from even this remote contact with a phase
of humanity peculiarly revolting to her, and the protest of her
innate delicacy would often appear strongly upon her face.

"The worst of it is," she muttered, "that soap and water cannot
blot out thoughts of the people who were here before us."