Bressant

Within reach of Sophie's hand as she lay, were suspended a couple of

hanging shelves, which held her books. There were not a great many of

them, but they all bore signs of having been well read, and there was at

the same time a certain neatness and spotlessness in their appearance

which no merely new books could ever possess, but which was communicated

solely by Sophie's pure finger-touches. On the opposite side of the bed

stood a small table, on which ticked a watch; and beside the watch was a

work-basket, full of those multifarious little articles that only a

woman knows how to get together.

Looking around the room, and noting the delicate nicety and precision of

its condition and arrangement, one would have supposed that Sophie's own

hands must have been very lately at work upon it. But it was many weeks

since she had even sat in the easy-chair that stood in the

rosy-curtained window; and, although now far advanced in convalescence,

she had taken no part in the care of her room since her illness. Why it

had still continued to retain its immaculateness was one of many similar

mysteries which must always surround a character like Sophie's. Every

thing she accomplished seemed not so much to be done, as to take place,

in accordance with her idea or resolve; and there were always, in her

manifestations of whatever kind, more spiritual than material elements.

When Cornelia entered, Sophie laid down her sewing, and looked up-with a

smile in her eyes, which were large and gray, and the only regularly

beautiful part of her face. She had a way of confining a smile to them,

when wishing merely to express good-will or pleasure, which was peculiar

to herself, and very effective. Cornelia walked quite soberly up to the

bedside, kissed her sister, and then stood silent for several moments.

Compared with her recent exhilaration, this was very extraordinary

behavior. She had rushed up-stairs intent upon pouring into Sophie's

ears the whole gorgeous tale of her hopes and anticipations for the

coming summer. Yet no sooner was she within the door than her excitement

seemed to die out, and her enthusiasm ebb away. Extraordinary as it

appeared, it was by no means a rare occurrence. Cornelia alone could

have told how common; if, indeed, she ever reflected upon the matter.

She was very quick to feel a divergence of interests between her sister

and herself, and always inferred that Sophie could not sympathize with

any thing for which she had no personal taste. In the present instance,

it had all at once occurred to her that her sister would not be likely

to care half so much about the gayeties of fashionable watering-places

and city-life as she did, and might therefore treat with indifference

what was to her an affair of the greatest moment; and a snub being one

of those things which Cornelia found it most difficult, even in the

mildest form, to endure, she had resolved, on the spur of the moment, to

approach the topic of her proposed departure with the same coolness

which she expected Sophie to manifest when she heard about it.