smoothness rough to her. I regret it, but I see no remedy. If I turned her loose, she would probably gravitate into another professorial domain where her ease and well-being would be as carefully ministered to as with us, if not more so. Besides, Catherine never heard of Browning and does not know she fails to toe the philosophical mark. She does not court difficulties for their educational value, or ever contrast "The petty Done with the Undone Vast," and I own to the ignominy of an ethical standard so low as to be glad she does not.
I once tried to get better acquainted with Catherine. I donned a large flowered kitchen-apron I have, and devoted an afternoon to culinary pursuits. We got on real friendly terms. Catherine asked me if I knew whether the lady who lives next door but one was her husband's second wife or not. She seemed disappointed when I told her I didn't know but I thought not. I saw she was scenting a romance in the seeming disparity of their ages. She next reverted to one of our numerous household retainers, a new-made widower, who has recently gone into business for himself. The leading events of his life were reviewed in turn, the lingering illness of his de-
