ret?
You understand?"

"Yes, Henry, I understand. I am learning to understand a great many
things this morning."

The old man rose feebly, and stood plucking at the edge of the
tablecloth. It was evident that there was something more which he was
trying to say. Mary looked up, and their eyes met.

"All these years," said her father slowly, "while you have been silent,
running after your mother, serving us all, appearing so patient,--has
there been bitterness in your heart, Mary? Bitterness and rebellion?"

The two pairs of eyes held one another in a steady gaze.

"Yes," Mary said.

"Ah!" the Major winced. "That hurts me," he said slowly. "That hurts
me, Mary!"

He turned and left the room. Mrs Mallison stood up in her turn, and
began rolling up her napkin before putting it into its silver ring. She
reserved her parting shot until her husband was out of hearing.

"Well, Mary, I hope you are satisfied. You have turned our rejoicings
into bitterness and revilings, and sorely hurt and distressed your poor
father. I fear your fortune will bring you no blessing."

The door closed loudly, and the sisters were left alone, abashed and
discomfited. When our minds are overflowing with the consciousness of
our own grievances, it is always irritating to be forced to realise that
there are two sides to every question, and that we ourselves are not
altogether without blame. Mary Mallison had so long been in subjection
to her parents, that the consciousness of their serious displeasure
overwhelmed for the moment the smart of her own injuries. She was still
obstinate, still determined, but her conscience was pricked, and she was
unheroically afraid.

"Oh, Trissie... they are cross! Do you think they will ever forgive
me?"

"Don't be a rotter, Mary," the younger sister cried scornfully. "I was
thankful to hear you assert yourself at last. For goodness' sake don't
give one bleat, and then relapse back into the old rut. _Of course_
they are cross! What else did you expect? Did you expect them to be
pleased? If you are going to break loose and lead an independent life
you must be strong enough not to mind crossness."

"Yes, but I can't, and besides--father was sad! That's worse than being
cross. I felt miserable when he said that!"

"Well! he was right!" Teresa pronounced with characteristic certainty.
"It was sneakish to go on pretending.--It wasn't patience at all, it was
sheer funk. It would have