"Now, John," she said, "don't you think we poor women are judged rather hardly? Men, you know, tell all sorts of lies to carry on their great politics and their ambition, and n.o.body thinks it so dreadful of _them_"

"I _do_--I should," interposed John.

"Oh, well! _you_--you are an exception. It is not one man in a hundred that is so good as you are. Now, we women have only one poor little ambition,--to be pretty, to please you men; and, as soon as you know we are getting old, you don't like us. And can you think it's so very shocking if we don't come square up to the dreadful truth about our age? Youth and beauty is all there is to us, you know."

"O Lillie! don't say so," said John, who felt the necessity of being instructive, and of improving the occasion to elevate the moral tone of his little elf. "Goodness lasts, my dear, when beauty fades."

"Oh, nonsense! Now, John, don't talk humbug. I'd like to see _you_ following goodness when beauty is gone. I've known lots of plain old maids that were perfect saints and angels; and yet men crowded and jostled by them to get the pretty sinners. I dare say now," she added, with a bewitching look over her shoulder at him, "you'd rather have me than Miss Almira Carraway,--hadn't you, now?"

And Lillie put her white arm round his neck, and her downy cheek to his, and said archly, "Come, now, confess."

Then John told her that she was a bad, naughty girl; and she laughed; and, on the whole, the pair were more hilarious and loving than usual.

But yet, when John was away at his office, he thought of it again, and found there was still a sore spot in his heart.

She had cheated him once; would she cheat him again? And she could cheat so prettily, so serenely, and with such a candid face, it was a dangerous talent.

No: she wasn't like his mother, he thought with a sigh. The "je ne sais quoi de saint et de sacre," which had so captivated his imagination, did not cover the saintly and sacred nature; it was a mere outward purity of complexion and outline. And then Grace,--she must not be left to find out what he knew about Lillie. He had told Grace that she was only twenty,--told it on her authority; and now must he become an accomplice? If called on to speak of his wife's age, must he accommodate the truth to her story, or must he palter and evade? Here was another brick laid on the wall of separation between his sister and himself. It was rising daily. Here was another subject on which he could never speak frankly with Grace; for he must defend Lillie,--every impulse of his heart rushed to protect her.

But it is a terrible truth, and one that it will not hurt any of us to bear in mind, that our judgments of our friends are involuntary.

We may long with all our hearts to confide; we may be fascinated, entangled, and wish to be blinded; but blind we cannot be. The friend that has lied to us once, we may long to believe; but we cannot. Nay, more; it is the worse for us, if, in our desire to hold the dear deceiver in our hearts, we begin to chip and hammer on the great foundations of right and honor, and to say within ourselves, "After all, why be so particular?" Then, when we have searched about for all the reasons and apologies and extenuations for wrong-doing, are we sure that in our human weakness we shall not be pulling down the moral barriers in ourselves? The habit of excusing evil, and finding apologies, and wishing to stand with one who stands on a lower moral plane, is not a wholesome one for the soul.

As fate would have it, the very next day after this little scene, who should walk into the parlor where Lillie, John, and Grace were sitting, but that terror of American democracy, the census-taker.

Armed with the whole power of the republic, this official steps with elegant ease into the most sacred privacies of the family. Flutterings and denials are in vain. Bridget and Katy and Anne, no less than Seraphina and Isabella, must give up the critical secrets of their lives.

John took the paper into the kitchen. Honest old Bridget gave in her age with effrontery as "twinty-five." Anne giggled and flounced, and declared on her word she didn't know,--they could put it down as they liked. "But, Anne, you _must_ tell, or you may be sent to jail, you know."

Anne giggled still harder, and tossed her head: "Then it's to jail I'll have to go; for I don't know."

"Dear me," said Lillie, with an air of edifying candor, "what a fuss they make! Set down my age 'twenty-seven,' John," she added.

Grace started, and looked at John; he met her eye, and blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Why, what's the matter?" said Lillie, "are you embarra.s.sed at telling your age?"

"Oh, nothing!" said John, writing down the numbers hastily; and then, finding a sudden occasion to give directions in the garden, he darted out. "It's so silly to be ashamed of our age!" said Lillie, as the census-taker withdrew.

"Of course," said Grace; and she had the humanity never to allude to the subject with her brother.

CHAPTER X.

_CHANGES_.

SCENE.--_A chamber at the Seymour House. Little discovered weeping.

John rushing in with empress.e.m.e.nt_.

"Lillie, you _shall_ tell me what ails you."

"Nothing ails me, John."

"Yes, there does; you were crying when I came in."

"Oh, well, that's nothing!"

"Oh, but it _is_ a great deal! What is the matter? I can see that you are not happy."

"Oh, pshaw, John! I am as happy as I ought to be, I dare say; there isn't much the matter with me, only a little blue, and I don't feel quite strong."

"You don't feel strong! I've noticed it, Lillie."

"Well, you see, John, the fact is, that I never have got through this month without going to the sea-side. Mamma always took me. The doctors told her that my const.i.tution was such that I couldn't get along without it; but I dare say I shall do well enough in time, you know."

"But, Lillie," said John, "if you do need sea-air, you must go. I can't leave my business; that's the trouble."

"Oh, no, John! don't think of it. I ought to make an effort to get along. You see, it's very foolish in me, but places affect my spirits so. It's perfectly absurd how I am affected."

"Well, Lillie, I hope this place doesn't affect you unpleasantly,"

said John.

"It's a nice, darling place, John, and it's very silly in me; but it is a fact that this house somehow has a depressing effect on my spirits. You know it's not like the houses I've been used to. It has a sort of old look; and I can't help feeling that it puts me in mind of those who are dead and gone; and then I think I shall be dead and gone too, some day, and it makes me cry so. Isn't it silly of me, John?"

"Poor little p.u.s.s.y!" said John.

"You see, John, our rooms are lovely; but they aren't modern and cheerful, like those I've been accustomed to. They make me feel pensive and sad all the time; but I'm trying to get over it."

"Why, Lillie!" said John, "would you like the rooms refurnished? It can easily be done if you wish it."

"Oh, no, no, dear! You are too good; and I'm sure the rooms are lovely, and it would hurt Gracie's feelings to change them. No: I must try and get over it. I know just how silly it is, and I shall try to overcome it. If I had only more strength, I believe I could."

"Well, darling, you must go to the sea-side. I shall have you sent right off to Newport. Gracie can go with you."

"Oh, no, John! not for the world. Gracie must stay, and keep house for you. She's such a help to you, that it would be a shame to take her away. But I think mamma would go with me,--if you could take me there, and engage my rooms and all that, why, mamma could stay with me, you know. To be sure, it would be a trial not to have you there; but then if I could get up my strength, you know,"--

"Exactly, certainly; and, Lillie, how would you like the parlors arranged if you had your own way?"

"Oh, John! don't think of it."

"But I just want to know for curiosity. Now, how would you have them if you could?"

"Well, then, John, don't you think it would be lovely to have them frescoed? Did you ever see the Folingsbees' rooms in New York? They were so lovely!--one was all in blue, and the other in crimson, opening into each other; with carved furniture, and those _marquetrie_ tables, and all sorts of little French things. They had such a gay and cheerful look."

"Now, Lillie, if you want our rooms like that, you shall have them."

"O John, you are too good! I couldn't ask such a sacrifice."