She did not even read novels, except aloud; and when she was not in some way occupied in caring for her mother, she sat hour after hour by the window, with a piece of crochet, which seemed a second Penelope's web, for it never was visibly larger one day than it had been the day before.

Mrs.Costello gradually grew anxious as she perceived how dull and inanimate her daughter remained.

She would almost have been glad of an excuse for giving her a gentle scolding, but Lucia's entire submission and sweetness of temper made it impossible.

There seemed nothing to be done, but to try to force her into cheerful occupation, and to hope that time and her own good sense would do the rest.

Hitherto they had had no piano; they got one, and for a day or two Lucia made a languid pretence of practising.