After mourning me for fourteen years, she had made a marriage of esteem, and left a son who had been Mrs.Leete's father.

Mrs.Leete had never seen her grandmother, but had heard much of her, and, when her daughter was born, gave her the name of Edith.
This fact might have tended to increase the interest which the girl took, as she grew up, in all that concerned her ancestress, and especially the tragic story of the supposed death of the lover, whose wife she expected to be, in the conflagration of his house.

It was a tale well calculated to touch the sympathy of a romantic girl, and the fact that the blood of the unfortunate heroine was in her own veins naturally heightened Edith's interest in it.

A portrait of Edith Bartlett and some of her papers, including a packet of my own letters, were among the family heirlooms.

The picture represented a very beautiful young woman about whom it was easy to imagine all manner of tender and romantic things.