Two young girls sat on the porch of a seaside hotel in which they had been guests all summer; near them was a gentleman who had just arrived. "There!" said Miss B., "there go those lovers off for a stroll. It is said they are actually engaged! So absurd! Both middle-aged; he is a pompous fool, and she is pock-marked. What can they see in each other?" "They have been lovers since they were children," gently answered Miss C. "But she has devoted her life to nursing her mother, who has been ill for years with an incurable disease. Now her mother is dead, and they will be married soon." "Do look at those Wright sisters!" cried Miss B. "I'm sick of the sight of them. The elder sails along with that slow, majestic gait, as if they were of royal birth, and the ugly little one trots after her—never leaves her a minute. It's a wonder it never occurs to her that she may be in the way when a pretty girl is talking to a gentleman." "Her sister does not think her in the way," quietly said Miss C. "The reason she walks and moves slowly is because she is subject to terrible attacks which are brought on by rapid motion. Her sister never leaves her, because if she were not there to apply the remedies, the poor girl would die. There never was a more unselfish sacrifice of one life to another," she added warmly. Her companion was silenced, but only for a few minutes. "There is that stupid Miss Blank going away! That is a relief. When women get to be as old, and ugly, and uninteresting as that, they ought to be kept out of sight among their friends." Miss C. hesitated a moment. "Do you know that Miss Blank engaged two rooms for the entire season and has kept them filled with poor teachers, and widows, and mothers with sick babies, not one of whom would have been able to leave home but for her? She has given them happiness, and health, and perhaps new life. I heard this from one of them—not from herself," she added quickly. And so on and on, one seeing the shadow in each character, the other the bright side. The newcomer keenly inspected the faces of the two girls as they rose and passed him. Both were young and pretty. But one face was already lined with discontent and mean, vulgar thoughts, while the other turned on life eyes full of serene and joyful calm. Whatever their future lot, one will find only disappointment in the world; but to the other it will always be, as Charles Kingsley says, "full of sweet and noble souls."