hidden ambition to shine in the highest circles of the queen cities of
America,--Boston, New York, and Washington. With this inward aim,
Sibyl Warrington held herself somewhat aloof from the young gentlemen
of Westerton; there were, however, two whom she seemed to favor in her
gentle way, and Aunt Faith watched with some anxiety the progress of
events. Graham Marr was a young collegian, the only child of a widowed
mother who lived in Westerton during the summer months. He had a
certain kind of fragile beauty, but his listless manner and drawling
voice rendered him disagreeable to Aunt Faith, who preferred manly
strength and vivacity even though accompanied by a shade of bluntness.
But Sibyl always received Graham Marr with one of her bright smiles,
and she would listen to his poetry hour after hour; for Graham wrote
verses, and liked nothing better than reclining in an easy chair and
reading them aloud.

"What Sibyl can see in Gra-a-m'ma, I cannot imagine," Bessie would
sometimes say; "he is a lazy white-headed egotist; a good judge of
lace and ribbons, but mortally afraid of a dog, and as to powder, the
very sight of a gun makes him faint."

But Aunt Faith had heard of the fortune which would come to Graham
Marr at the death of an uncle, and she could not but fear that Sibyl
had heard of it also. The grandfather, displeased with his sons, had
left a mill tying up his estate for the grandchildren, who were not to
receive it until all of the first generation were dead. Only one son
now remained, an infirm old man of seventy, and at his death the
hoarded treasure would be divided among the heirs, two girls living in
North Carolina, and Graham Marr, who was just twenty-one. Sibyl was
eighteen, and self-possessed beyond her years; could it be that she
really found anything to like in Graham Marr? Aunt Faith could not