mood, full of histories of her own
failures as housekeeper, her difficulty with bills, her hopeless
exceeding of the weekly allowance--the which she recounted with
triumphant amusement, while Robert sat looking on with an air of
penitence and guilt. That he should dare to inflict petty economies
upon this goddess among women!

Towards her old friend Jean's manner was composed of a mingling of
tenderness and wonder.

"There's no question about this place suiting you, Vanna," she said the
last evening, as the two girls enjoyed a short _tete-a-tete_ in the
garden. "I have never seen you look so well; nor so pretty. Robert
says so, too. Somehow--I don't know how it is, but you look different,
I keep looking at you to see the cause. You have not changed your
hair?"

"No; my hair is as you last saw it. It won't `go' any other way.
There's no difference that I know of. It exists only in your
imagination."

"No!" Jean was obstinate. "You look different. Dear old thing, it's a
comfort to see you so sweet and blooming. I was afraid I should find
you all gone to pieces. I _do_ admire you. When I think of your life,
and mine! I should be such a beast. Miggles says you are an angel. So
does Piers. Not in so many words, of course. Piers never says what he
feels. He is such a silent, shut-up creature, but I could see that he
was simply bursting with admiration of your life down here. Doesn't he
look well? I have never seen him so bright. Robert says he goes a
great deal to the Van Dusens'. They have such a pretty daughter. I've
wondered so often if he could be in love at last. That would account
for it all. I hope he is--Old Piers! I should like him to be happy."

"Very probably it is. He is certainly changed," said Vanna briefly.

The next day the Gloucesters took their departure, and left behind a
sense of loss and blank. Miggles struggled under a weight of depression
at the thought that this might be the last time that she would ever
behold her beloved child and pupil; the maid covered up the furniture of
the guest-room with dull regret; Vanna was racked by an access of
bitterness and jealousy. All the dearly won composure of the past eight
months seemed swept aside. She was back again in the slough of despond
which had followed the memorable visit to the doctor. Every sight,
every sound, every word that was uttered seemed to press against her
nerves with unbearable jar; she felt a sense of e