“No, Mary, I fear she never will. Sarah, from having been placed so young, I suppose, at the head of my father’s house, has acquired an independence both of manner and temper, that, I think, will prevent her marrying. With her quick insight into character, and satirical turn of mind, too, she is not easily interested,” and, Mrs. Eldon might have added, was not interesting; for Sarah was now two-and-twenty, and never had had a lover, nor any thing that approached to one.
She was not handsome, and had no charm of manner that supplied the attraction of beauty. It is true she had more mind and information than usually falls to the lot of women, but though she often amused, she never won. She was upright, true, sincere, but there was a hardness in her uprightness, a brusquerie in her truths, and a downrightness in her sincerity, that rendered them any thing but attractive; and, in fact, she was not popular, and never had been admired. The few young men who from time to time visited at her father’s house she ridiculed without mercy, and Mrs. Eldon soon gave up all hope of ever seeing her married. She consoled herself for the fact by saying that Sarah was one of the few women to whose happiness it was not necessary, and that though with her strong mind and active habits she would have made an admirable head of a family, yet, as it was, she would probably become what is termed a “society woman,” and as such be a most useful member of the community. And, in fact, she seemed gradually falling into the course her sister had in her own mind marked out for her. There was so much good sense in all her views, and so much efficiency in carrying them out, that when once she fell into the class just indicated, she was found too useful to be readily relinquished. Nor was the occupation distasteful to her. Her high sense of duty forbade her living for her own pursuits alone, and watching over the poor, and correcting the idle, and directing and dictating generally, suited not less with her tastes than her principles. It was wonderful how much good she did, and how little gratitude she got for it. No one detected an impostor as quickly as she did, and all doubtful and difficult cases were turned over to her management, and every department that fell to her share was directed with vigilance and understanding, but at the same time many of her poor feared, and some of them hated her. She relieved their necessities while she scolded their recklessness, and most of them, as she turned away, said with bitterness, “that she was a hard lady,” while they blessed Mary’s bonny face when she accompanied her, and never failed to call her “a sweet spoken young lady,” for though she seldom went among them, and gave little, she listened kindly, and felt for their trials and distresses. The difference was, that Sarah’s charity was that of principle, Mary’s of feeling, and to the latter the poor and ignorant always respond, while they shrink from the former.
“Sarah,” said Mary one day, with some embarrassment, “I have a secret to tell you.”
“A secret,” said Sarah, “well, what is it?”
Mary colored as she answered, “Perhaps it may surprise you, and yet it seems to me you must half suspect it.”
“I am sure I do not know what you mean,” replied Sarah, “but if it is a long story give me that flannel petticoat I was making. There,” said she, threading her needle, “begin, I am ready.”
But it did not seem so easy to begin as Sarah supposed, for Mary cleared her throat and then said with an effort,
“I am going to be married.”
“You!” exclaimed Sarah, with extreme surprise. “Why, who to?”
“Oh, Sarah!” said Mary with some disappointment, “how can you ask? To Frank Ludlow, to be sure.”