All Is Not Gold That Glitters by Ann Maria Hall

I think I have said before that the most trying and dangerous position a young woman can occupy, is that where her station is not defined -- where she considers herself above the industrious classes by whom she is surrounded -- and where those with whom her tastes and habits assimilate, consider her greatly beneath them. Superficial observers (and the great mass of human beings are nothing more) invariably look for happiness in the class one or two degrees above their own. They would consider themselves absurd if they _at once_ set their minds upon being dukes and princes; they only want to be a _little_ bit higher, only the _smallest bit_, and never for a moment look to what they call "_beneath_ them" for happiness. This was particularly the case with these young girls. Their station was not defined, yet how different their practice!

One was ambitious of the glittering tinsel of the world -- the other, refined but not ambitious, sought her happiness in the proper exercise of the affections; neither could have described her particular feelings, but an accurate observer could not fail to do so for them. That night neither girl had courage to speak to the other on the occurrences of the past day, and yet each thought of nothing else. They knelt down, side by side, as they had done from infancy, repeating the usual prayers as they had been accustomed to do.