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 ings I thought you'd enjoy that, and there's just enough variety to suit you."

"It is a very pretty picture," said she, as she turned away.

The artist who had quietly observed them from the inside and heard their conversation, now stepped to the door and invited them in to look at his picture gallery. She could not be persuaded, much to his regret, hers being a face he wished to study. The conversation, rambling as it was, had interested him on all sides, particularly between the two lads, for the investigating spirit it displayed in both of them beyond their years.

Walter accepted the invitation, while Rosalind walked moodily homeward, reproaching herself for the discourtesy she had shown.

A slight shade of impatience flitted across Walter's brow as he met her that night, which she observed. It increased the dissatisfaction already felt, and at an early hour she retired to her chamber.

"Oh dear," said he to his mother after she had left, "I wonder if Rosalind is never going to be herself again. I cannot get her interested in any thing, and she was once so enthusiastic. I was in one of the finest picture galleries to day I ever saw, but could not persuade her to go in or scarcely look at a painting which I thought particularly pretty, and one that would have pleased her so much once. Mother, why could'nt she have been more like you?"

"Have patience with her my son; it is something new for you to be lacking in that. I never heard you complain so much before."