also been aroused, for as the visiting hour of the afternoon drew near
she displayed an unwillingness to leave the house, donned her prettiest
dress, and seated herself in the drawing-room, in what was evidently a
waiting mood.

"Put a rose in your belt, Jean. You ought always to wear a rose," Vanna
said, holding out a bowl of fragrant blooms for approval, and Jean
obeyed, casting the while a smilingly defiant glance at the angular
woman who sat knitting near at hand. If ever the word spinster was
written large over a human creature, it was written over Mrs Goring,
wife of the genial Philip, and stepmother to his daughter Jean. Yet she
was not only a wife, but a mother, and her husband and the two growing
schoolboys regarded her with a sincere if somewhat prosaic affection.
Jean's mental position with regard to her stepmother was somewhat more
complicated. "I love her with my head, with my judgment, with my
conscience; on Sundays, when the sermon is extra good; when she has
asthma, and gasps for breath; when the boys are ill, and she looks white
and trembly; at other times--_no_! with my heart--_never_! We are miles
apart, and no bridge is long enough to bring us together. I am her
husband's daughter, so it is her duty to feel an affection for me; she
never shirks a duty, so she tries hard morning and evening to love me as
she should, and asks forgiveness every night because she can't manage to
do it. I don't try--because I'm bad, you'll say; really, because I'm
too wise. It's no use _trying_ to love; but I'm far more obedient and
docile than I should be if she were my own dear mother. I should have
teased her, and argued, and been cross and perverse--every naughty thing
in turn, as the mood took me; and then I should have been sorry, and
cried, and she would have forgiven me, and we'd have loved each other
harder than ever. But the mater and I never quarrel. That ought to
score a great big mark to our credit."

On the present occasion Mrs Goring justified her character for keeping
her temper, for, trying as it was to her practical nature to behold her
stepdaughter decking herself with flowers in the afternoon, and idling
over a piece of useless crewel work, she made no spoken protest, but
contented herself with pursing her thin lips, and clicked her
knitting-needles together as she worked.

Presently a visitor was announced, and then another; tea was served, and
it was after five o'clock when at last the