surpassed. I have just been reading a portion at the commencement of Anne of Jeersteen . It commences well.” (Things never began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both in private life and on his handbills.) “You are a reader, I see. Do you subscribe to our Middlemarch library?”
“No,” said Mary. “ Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book.”
“I am a great bookman myself,” returned Mr. Trumbull. “I have no less than two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are well selected. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, and others. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention, Miss Garth.”
“I am much obliged,” said Mary, hastening away again, “but I have little time for reading.”
“I should say my brother has done something for her in his will,” said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the door behind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary.
“His first wife was a poor match for him, though,” said Mrs. Waule. “She