Just then Ella came singing into the room, but started when she saw how excited Mrs. Campbell appeared, and how swollen her eyelids were.
"Why, what's the matter?" said she. "I never saw you cry before, excepting that time when I told you I was going to marry Henry," and Ella laughed a little spiteful laugh, for she had not yet recovered from her anger at what Mrs. Campbell had said when she was in there before.
"Hush—sh," said Mary softly; and Mrs. Campbell, drawing Ella to her side, told her of the strange discovery she had made; then beckoning Mary to approach, she laid a hand upon each of the young girls' heads, and blessing them, called them "her own dear children."
It would be hard telling what Ella's emotions were. One moment she was glad, and the next she was sorry, for she was so supremely selfish, that the fact of Mary's being now in every respect her equal, gave her more pain than pleasure. Of course, Mrs. Campbell would love her best,—every body did who knew her,—every body but Henry. And when Mrs. Campbell asked why she did not speak, she replied, "Why, what shall I say? shall I go into ecstasies about it? To be sure I'm glad,—very glad that you are my aunt. Will Mary live here now?"
"Yes, always," answered Mrs. Campbell; and "No never," thought Mary.
Her sister's manner chilled her to the heart. She thoroughly understood her, and felt sure they could not be happy together, for Ella was to live at home even after her marriage. There was also another, and stronger reason, why Mary should not remain with her aunt. Mrs. Mason had the first, best claim upon her. She it was who had befriended her when a lonely, neglected orphan, taking her from the alms-house, and giving her a pleasant, happy home. She it was, too, who in sickness and health had cared for her with all a mother's love, and Mary would not leave her now. So when Mrs. Campbell began to make plans for the future, each one of which had a direct reference to herself, she modestly said she should never desert Mrs. Mason, stating her reasons with so much delicacy, and yet so firmly, that Mrs. Campbell was compelled to acknowledge she was right, while at the same time she secretly wondered whether Ella for her sake would refuse a more elegant home were it offered her.
All that afternoon the contrast between the two girls grew upon her so painfully, that she would almost gladly have exchanged her selfish, spoilt Ella, for the once despised and neglected orphan; and when at evening Mary came to say "Good night," she embraced her with a fervency which seemed to say she could not give her up.
Scarcely had the door closed upon Mary, ere there was a violent bell ring, and Henry Lincoln was ushered into the parlor, where Ella, radiant with smiles, sat awaiting him. They were invited that evening to a little sociable, and Ella had bestowed more than usual time and attention upon her toilet, for Henry was very observant of ladies' dresses, and now that "he had a right," was constantly dictating, as to what she should wear, and what she should not. On this evening every thing seemed fated to go wrong. Ella had heard Henry say that he was partial to mazarine blue, and not suspecting that his preference arose from the fact of his having frequently seen her sister in a neatly fitting blue merino she determined to surprise him with his favorite color. Accordingly, when Henry entered the parlor, he found her arrayed in a rich blue silk, made low in the neck with loose, full sleeves, and flounced to the waist. The young man had just met Mary at the gate, and as usual after seeing her was in the worst of humors.
His first salutation to Ella was "Well, Mother Bunch, you look pretty, don't you?"
"I don't know. Do I?" said Ella, taking him literally.