Mallet had made his arrangements to sail for Europe on the first of September, andhaving in the interval a fortnight to spare, he determined to spend it with his cousin Cecilia, the widow of a nephew of his father. He was urged by the reflection that an affectionatefarewell might help to exonerate him from the charge of neglect frequently preferred bythis lady. It was not that the young man disliked her; on the contrary, he regarded her witha tender admiration, and he had not forgotten how, when his cousin had brought her homeon her marriage, he had seemed to feel the upward sweep of the empty bough from whichthe golden fruit had been plucked, and had then and there accepted the prospect ofbachelorhood. The truth was, that, as it will be part of the entertainment of this narrative toexhibit, Rowland Mallet had an uncomfortably sensitive conscience, and that, in spite of theseeming paradox, his visits to Cecilia were rare because she and her misfortunes wereoften uppermost in it. Her misfortunes were three in number: first, she had lost herhusband; second, she had lost her money (or the greater part of it); and third, she lived atNorthampton, Massachusetts. Mallet's compassion was really wasted, because Cecilia was avery clever woman, and a most skillful counter-plotter to adversity. She had made herself acharming home, her economies were not obtrusive, and there was always a cheerful flutterin the folds of her crape. It was the consciousness of all this that puzzled Mallet wheneverhe felt tempted to put in his oar. He had money and he had time, but he never could decidejust how to place these gifts gracefully at Cecilia's service. He no longer felt like marryingher: in these eight years that fancy had died a natural death. And yet her extremecleverness seemed somehow to make charity difficult and patronage impossible. He wouldrather chop off his hand than offer her a check, a piece of useful furniture, or a black silkdress; and yet there was some sadness in seeing such a bright, proud woman living in sucha small, dull way. Cecilia had, moreover, a turn for sarcasm, and her smile, which was herpretty feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a lurking scratch in it.Rowland remembered that, for him, she was all smiles, and suspected, awkwardly, that heministered not a little to her sense of the irony of things. And in truth, with his means, hisleisure, and his opportunities, what had he done? He had an unaffected suspicion of hisuselessness. Cecilia, meanwhile, cut out her own dresses, and was personally giving herlittle girl the education of a princess