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 white forehead, and those soft eyes. I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, which has another "timbre" than that hard, deep organ of Miss Mann's. Courage, Cary!—even at fifty you will not be repulsive."

"Miss Mann did not make herself, or tune her voice, Robert."

"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes her briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women, she reserves the May morning hours when with light and dew she wooes the primrose from the turf, and the lily from the wood-moss."

Ushered into Miss Mann's little parlour, Caroline found her as she always found her, surrounded by perfect neatness, cleanliness, and comfort; (after all, is it not a virtue in old maids that solitude rarely makes them negligent or disorderly?) no dust on her polished furniture, none on her carpet, fresh flowers in the vase on her table, a bright fire in the grate. She herself sat primly and somewhat grimly-tidy in a cushioned rocking-chair, her hands busied with some knitting: this was her favourite work, as it required the least exertion. She scarcely rose as Caroline entered; to avoid excitement was one of Miss Mann's aims in life: she had been composing