me mysterious way Kate would contrive to take from
her her new-found joy.

She could not resist her,--David could not resist her,--no one could ever
resist Kate. Her face turned white and her hand began to tremble so that
she dropped the curtain she had been holding up.

Just then came David's clear voice, louder than would have been necessary,
and pitched as if he were calling to some one upstairs, though he knew she
was just inside the parlor where she had gone to make sure of the window
fastening.

"Come, dear! Aren't you ready? It is more than time we started."

There was a glad ring in David's voice that somehow belied the somewhat
exacting words he had spoken, and Marcia's heart leaped up to meet him.

"Yes, I'm all ready, dear!" she called back with a hysterical little
laugh. Of course Kate could not hear so far, but it gave her satisfaction
to say it. The final word was unpremeditated. It bubbled up out of the
depths of her heart and made the red rush back into her cheeks when she
realized what she had said. It was the first time she had ever used a term
of endearment toward David. She wondered if he noticed it and if he would
think her very--bold,--queer,--immodest, to use it. She looked shyly up at
him, enquiring with her eyes, as she came out to him on the front stoop,
and he looked down with such a smile she felt as if it were a caress. And
yet neither was quite conscious of this little real by-play they were
enacting for the benefit of the audience of one in blue muslin over the
way. How much she heard, or how little they could not tell, but it gave
satisfaction to go through with it inasmuch as it was real, and not acting
at all.

David fastened the door and then helped Marcia into the carriage. They
were both laughing happily like two children starting upon a picnic.
Marcia was serenely conscious of her new bonnet, and it was pleasant to
have David tuck the linen lap robe over her chintz frock so carefully. She
was certain Kate could not identify it now at that distance, thanks to the
lap robe and her crepe shawl. At least Kate could not see any of her own
trousseau on her sister now.

Kate was sitting on the little white seat in the shelter of the
honeysuckle vine facing them on the stoop of the Heath house. It was
impossible for them to know whether she was watching them or not. They did
not look up to see. She was talking with Mr. Heath who, in his milking
garb, was putting to rights some shrubs