Summers and winters came and went, with little to mark them, except the growth of the trees, and the quiet progress of young creatures. Erminia was sent to school somewhere in France, to receive more regular instruction than she could have in the house with her invalid¹ aunt. But she came home once a year, more lovely and elegant and dainty than ever; and Maggie thought, with truth, that ripening² years were softening³ down her volatility⁴, and that her aunt’s dewlike sayings had quietly sunk deep, and fertilized⁵ the soil. That aunt was fading away. Maggie’s devotion added materially to her happiness; and both she and Maggie never forgot that this devotion was to be in all things subservient⁶ to the duty which she owed to her mother.

“My love,” Mrs. Buxton had more than once said, “you must always recollect⁷ that your first duty is toward your mother. You know how glad I am to see you; but I shall always understand how it is, if you do not come. She may often want you when neither you nor I can anticipate it.”

Mrs. Browne had no great wish to keep Maggie at home, though she liked to grumble⁸ at her going. Still she felt that it was best, in every way, to keep on good terms with such valuable friends; and she appreciated, in some small degree, the advantage which her intimacy⁹ at the house was to Maggie. But yet she could not restrain a few complaints, nor withhold¹⁰ from her, on her return, a recapitulation of all the things which might have been done if she had only been at home, and the number of times that she had been wanted; but when she found that Maggie quietly gave up her next Wednesday’s visit as soon as she was made aware of any necessity for her presence at home, her mother left off

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