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 accompany them, would not his patience be exhausted by this time, and thus this last anchor of hope float by. As all visible objects began to grow indistinct she could just perceive the little frolicksome kitten performing her wild antics in the flower circle. She rested her head on her hand to shut out, if possible, these unpleasant associations.

In another chamber sat Milly and Kate discussing their old topic, the novel, which Kate broached by an unceremonious entrance, singing at the top of her voice.

"There's some poetry for you to put at the head of the second chapter, and no play of the fancy neither, but a real farm scene out in the country. That's what I call a five-legged metre."

Milly felt unusually languid that day, and scarcely noticed Kate's merriment. For the last few moments she had been watching Rosalind who went to a white rose-bush as if to pluck a rose, then suddenly changing her mind, returned to the house. She was now pondering why she did not go to ride with her mother and Walter. Half mentally she said in a low voice, which Kate's quick ear readily caught. "So true it is that the lips may be wreathed in smiles while the heart is torn with anguish. One would think Rosalind might be perfectly happy."

"And its her own fault that she ain't. If she likes to be at cross pints, she must, that's all."