"I don't know, only—he's poor, and most wealthy people would consider that a very great objection."
Violet laughed lightly. "What an odd idea! If there is wealth on one side, there's the less need of it on the other, I should think. And he is intelligent, sensible, talented, amiable and good; rather handsome too."
"And so you are pleased, Vi?"
"Yes, no, I don't know," and the bright face clouded slightly. "I wish—but if people must marry, he'll do as well as another to rob me of my sister, I suppose."
She tripped away, and Molly, dropping her head upon her folded arms on the table, sighed profoundly.
Some one touched her on the shoulder, and her mother's voice asked, "What's the matter, Molly? You don't envy her that poor artist fellow, do you? You needn't: there'll be a better one coming along for you one of these days."
"No, no; not for me! not for me!" gasped the girl. "I've nothing to do with love or marriage, except to picture them for others. It's like mixing delicious draughts for other lips, while I—I may not taste them—may not have a single drop to cool my parched tongue, or quench my burning thirst."
At the moment life seemed to stretch out before her as a dreary waste, unbrightened by a single flower—a long, toilsome road to be trod in loneliness and pain. Her heart uttered the old plaint: "They seem to have everything and I nothing."
Then her cheek burned with shame, and penitent tears filled her eyes, as better thoughts came crowding into her mind.
Had she not a better than an earthly love to cheer, comfort, and sustain her on her way?—a love that would never fail, a Friend who would never leave nor forsake her; whose sympathy was perfect; who was always touched with the feeling of her infirmities, and into whose ear she could ever whisper her every sorrow, perplexity, anxiety, certain of help; for His love and power were infinite.