salient nose, was like her father's; it was this, probably, that gave an
impression of strength, with a wistful qualification. She was at that time
rather thin, and it could have been seen that she would be handsomer when
her frame had rounded out in fulfilment of its generous design. She opened
her lips to speak, but shut them again in an effort at self-control before
she said--

"But I really wish to do it. At this moment I would rather be in Hatboro'
than in Rome."

"Oh, very well," said the old lady, gathering herself up as one does from
throwing away one's sympathy upon an unworthy object; "if you really
_wish_ it--"

"I know that it must seem preposterous and--and almost ungrateful that I
should think of going back, when I might just as well stay. Why, I've a
great many more friends here than I have there; I suppose I shall be almost
a stranger when I get there, and there's no comparison in congeniality; and
yet I feel that I must go back. I can't tell you why. But I have a longing;
I feel that I must try to be of some use in the world--try to do some
good--and in Hatboro' I think I shall know how." She put on her glasses,
and looked at the old lady as if she might attempt an explanation, but, as
if a clearer vision of the veteran worldling discouraged her, she did not
make the effort.

"_Oh_!" said the old lady. "If you want to be of use, and do good--"
She stopped, as if then there were no more to be said by a sensible person.
"And shall you be going soon?" she asked. The idea seemed to suggest her
own departure, and she rose after speaking.