 was not, perhaps,
singular in her concernment with such a personal problem.
    »It is six years since I was in Italy,« she said, when greetings were over,
and she had seated herself. »Don't you envy me my companion, Mrs. Spence? If
anything could revive one's first enjoyment, it would be the sight of Cecily's.«
    Cecily was sitting by Miriam, whose hand she had only just relinquished. Her
anxious and affectionate inquiries moved Miriam to a smile which seemed rather
of indulgence than warm kindness.
    »How little we thought where our next meeting would be!« Cecily was saying,
when the eyes of the others turned upon her at her aunt's remark.
    Noble beauty can scarcely be dissociated from harmony of utterance; voice
and visage are the correspondent means whereby spirit addresses itself to the
ear and eye. One who had heard Cecily Doran speaking where he could not see her,
must have turned in that direction, have listened eagerly for the sounds to
repeat themselves, and then have moved forward to discover the speaker. The
divinest singer may leave one unaffected by the tone of her speech. Cecily could
not sing, but her voice declared her of those who think in song, whose minds are
modulated to the poetry, not to the prose, of life.
    Her enunciation had the peculiar finish which is acquired in intercourse
with the best cosmopolitan society, the best in a worthy sense. Four years ago,
when she left Lancashire, she had a touch of provincial accent, - Miriam, though
she spoke well, was not wholly free from it, - but now it was impossible to
discover by listening to her from what part of England she came. Mrs.
Lessingham, whose admirable tact and adaptability rendered her unimpeachable in
such details, had devoted herself with artistic zeal to her niece's training for
the world; the pupil's natural aptitude ensured perfection in the result.
Cecily's manner accorded with her utterance; it had every charm derivable from
youth, yet nothing of immaturity. She was as completely at her ease as Mrs.
Lessingham, and as much more graceful in her self- as the advantages of nature
made inevitable.
    Miriam looked very cold, very severe, very English, by the side of this
brilliant girl. The thinness and pallor of her features became more noticeable;
the provincial faults of her dress were painfully obvious. Cecily was not
robust, but her form lacked no development appropriate to her years, and its
beauty was displayed by Parisian handiwork. In this respect, too,
