s. Yet there
came moments of revolt, when she rose and looked at herself in the
mirror, and asked----But for Olga, she would have tried to shape her
own destiny.

To-day she could look up at the sunshine. Irene was coming.

A sound of young voices in the quiet road; then the shimmer of a bright
costume, the gleam of a face all health and charm and merriment. Irene
came into the garden, followed by her brother, and behind them Olga.

Her voice woke the dull house; of a sudden it was alive, responding to
the cheerful mood of its inhabitants. The rooms had a new appearance;
sunlight seemed to penetrate to every shadowed comer; colours were
brighter, too familiar objects became interesting. The dining-room
table, commonly so uninviting, gleamed as for a festival. Irene's eyes
fell on everything and diffused her own happy spirit. Irene had an
excellent appetite; everyone enjoyed the meal. This girl could not but
bestow something of herself on all with whom she came together; where
she felt liking, her influence was incalculable.

"How much better you look than when I last saw you." she said to her
aunt. "Ewell evidently suits you."

And at once Mrs. Hannaford felt that she was stronger, younger, than
she had thought. Yes, she felt better than for a long time, and Ewell
was exactly suited to her health.

"Is that pastel yours, Olga? Admirable! The best thing of yours I ever
saw."

And Olga, who had thought her pastel worthless, saw all at once that it
really was not bad; she glowed with gratification.

The cousins were almost of an age, of much the same stature; but Olga
had a pallid tint, tawny hair, and bluish eyes, whilst Irene's was a
warm complexion, her hair of dark-brown, and her eyes of hazel. As
efficient human beings, there could be no comparison between them; Olga
looked frail, despondent, inclined to sullenness, whilst Irene
impressed one as in perfect health, abounding in gay vitality, infinite
in helpful resource. Straight as an arrow, her shoulders the perfect
curve, bosom and hips full-moulded to the ideal of ripe girlhood, she
could not make a gesture which was not graceful, nor change her
position without revealing a new excellence of form. Yet a certain
taste would have leant towards Miss Hannaford, whose traits had more
mystery; as an uncommon type, she gained by this juxtaposition. Miss
Derwent, despite her larger experience of the world, her vastly better
education, was a much younger person th