But it is only what might be expected.

The ingratitude of men is terrible.
Here we have for the last twenty years been devoting our lives to him--not only keeping his house for him, but seeing that he did not fall a victim to any of the designing women who would have insinuated themselves into his good graces, and preventing him from indulging in all sorts of foolish tastes and bringing himself to ruin; and now you see he turns again to that artful woman, and, without saying a word to us, invites her son to come here.

It is monstrous, sister!" "It is monstrous," Miss Eleanor Penfold repeated, with tears in her eyes.

"It is like flying in the face of Providence, sister." "It is flying in our faces," Miss Penfold replied sharply; "and just at the present moment that is of more importance.

To think that that man must have been brooding over this, and making up his mind to act in this way for weeks perhaps, and never to say a word to us upon the subject.