him."

"And how does Alfred like Mr. Rhys?"

"He likes him--" said Julia, turning over her ferns. "I like him. Mr.
Rhys said he was sorry you were sick. Now, _that_ is a frond. That is
what it is called. Do you see, those are the seeds."

Eleanor sighed. She would have liked to take lessons of Mr. Rhys on
another subject. She half envied Julia's liberty. There seemed a great
wall built up between her and the knowledge she wanted. Must it be so
always?

"Julia, when are you going to take a walk with Mr. Rhys again?"

"To-morrow," was the quick answer.

"I will give you something to ask him about."

"I don't want it. I always have enough to ask him. We are going after
ferns; we always have enough to talk about."

"But there is a question I would like you to ask."

"What is it? Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Eleanor was silent, watching Julia's uncompromising business-like air
as she turned over her bunch of ferns. The little one was full of her
own affairs; her long locks of hair waving with every turn of her busy
head. Suddenly she looked up.

"What is your question, Eleanor?"

"You must not ask it as if from me."

"How then?"

"Just ask it--as if you wanted to know yourself; without saying
anything."

"As if I wanted to know what?"

Eleanor hesitated, and Mrs. Powle came into the room.

"What, Eleanor--what?" Julia repeated.

"Nothing. Study your ferns."

"I _have_ studied them. This is the rachis--and down here below this,
is the rhizoma; and the little seed places that come on the back of the
frond, are thecae. I forget what Mr. Rhys called the seeds now. I'll
ask him."

"What nonsense is that you are talking, Julia?"

"Sense, mamma. Or rather, it is knowledge."

"Mamma, how do _you_ like Mr. Rhys? Julia says he is often here."

"He is a pleasant man," said Mrs. Powle. "I have nothing against
him--except that your father and the children are crazy about him. I
see nothing in him to be crazy about."

"Alfred is a good deal less crazy than he used to be," remarked Julia;
"and I think papa hasn't lost anything."

"You are a saucy girl," said her mother. "Mr. Carlisle is very anxious
to know when you will be down stairs again, Eleanor."

Julia ran off with her ferns; Eleanor went into a muse; and the
conversation ceased.

It happened a few days after this, that the event about which Mr.
Carlisle was anxious came to pass. Eleanor was able to leave her room.
However, feeling yet very