"Her face does not attract me in the least, there is nothing in it; and then her cheek-bones are so high, and her curls are so thin and limp. Now, if she only braided them nicely under a little close cap—and then her tongue; oh, Cathy! I think she would drive me distracted in a week."
But Cathy stood up stoutly for Miss Charity.
"I must say that I think you a little prejudiced," she returned, with honest indignation, and that natural love of opposition that incites young people to do battle for the accused. She did not love Miss Charity in the least; but, nevertheless, her sense of justice prompted her to take up her defence. "She is nice-looking now, every one says so; and when she was young she was more than pretty, positively beautiful, before she met with her accident."
"Was it an accident that caused her illness?"
"Yes; she was a strong healthy girl, just like us, fresh-colored and blooming; and her hair used to be so pretty,—it was just that paler tinge of gold that one sees with fair complexions, and now the color seems all worked out of it. She used to be called the pretty Miss Palmer; and then she was the only one of the four sisters who were ever engaged."
"Oh, Cathy, I thought you told me that there was no one for them to marry!"
"I forgot Miss Charity's affair; she was engaged to a young farmer in Wythiedale. I fancy he was a rough-and-ready sort of person; but I believe she was fond of him, poor thing, and then her accident happened."
"What sort of accident?"
"Oh, she fell down the granary steps when she was spending the day at his father's. It was a dreadful affair; partial paralysis set in, and there was a complication, and a great deal of suffering; and then the doctor said it was hopeless, and she was obliged to give him up."
"Oh, poor Miss Charity!" ejaculated Queenie, with tears in her eyes. She could have gone back and asked her pardon on the spot for all the hard things she had thought. "I never dreamt of trouble like this; I can hardly bear to hear of it. What became of the poor fellow?"