"Helen was grieved, yet she would not admit to herself that Harry had changed. She made an effort to appear stronger and brighter than she really was, and in the unselfishness of her love she said, 'It must be _I_ who have changed; I will yet win him back to me.' But her babe was feeble, and required much of her time, and Harry's brow would cloud with displeasure when the eyes of his gentle wife would fill with tears; then with an impatient 'pshaw!' he would leave the room, 'wondering what nurses were made for, if they couldn't keep babies from being a bore.'
"Poor Helen! All this told upon her feeble health and spirits; she became nervous and hysterical, and trembled when she heard Harry's footsteps. She consulted her glass to see if sickness had robbed her of the charms that had won him. Still it reflected back the same wealth of golden hair, the fair, pure brow, the sweet blue eyes. The rose had faded from her cheek, 'tis true, but that would bloom again with exercise and fresh air; and so she redoubled her attentions, patiently counting the tedious hours of his unwonted absence, nor met him with an ungentle word or look of reproach on his return.
"Helen had often met, at the house of a friend of Harry's, a young widow lady by the name of Melville. One day her husband told her that he wished an invitation to be sent to her to make them a visit, adding, 'she will cheer you up and help you appear more like yourself again.'
"The next week found Norah Melville their guest. Married at the age of nineteen to a man the age of her father, she found herself a year after a widow, with unimpaired beauty, and a fortune sufficiently ample to cover every want or desire. She had a thorough knowledge of human nature, and was a perfect woman of the world. Her figure was tall and queenly, she had large liquid black eyes, a complexion of marble paleness, a profusion of raven black hair, and a voice like the wind-harp in its sweetness. She knew that eyes like hers were made for _use_, and she _acted upon that principle_.
"Nothing could exceed her kindness to Helen, who only saw that her husband's old glad smile had come back again, and that he was once more gay and cheerful.
"Mrs. Melville sang them all her choicest songs, always appeared in an unexceptionable toilette, displayed a foot equal to Cinderella's, and was, by turns, pensive or gay, thoughtful or witty, brilliant or sad; but in all _bewitching_!