She herself was more like her mother in temperament--that is, like the New-Englander who goes through life with the grief of a loss grown to his heart.

Nothing could exceed Harry Edgham's tenderness to his motherless little girl.

He was always contriving something for her pleasure and comfort; but Maria, when her father laughed, regarded him with covert wonder and reproach.
Her aunt Maria continued to live with them, and kept the house.

Aunt Maria was very capable.

It is doubtful if there are many people on earth who are not crowned, either to their own consciousness or that of others, with at least some small semblance of glories.