Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. She thought her niece very hard and very self-possessed and self-confident. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. “They died within a few months of one another. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. “How will you live?” she appealed.
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