its belongings,
servants, carriages, opera box, etc."

"Now I begin to understand. This Miss Van Hoosen and Madame Zabriski
have been friends since their school days. They are together every
winter; and every one thinks it necessary to speak of their 'lovely
friendship,' and so on. And so she is a relative of the girl you know?
Why did you not tell me this before?"

"They are only cousins--distant cousins--and Yanna never said much
about her. We often passed her house when we were driving; and if we
saw her at the window, or in the garden, we bowed to her. She appeared
to be a very good-tempered old lady, and she must be so, for she has
invited Yanna and her brother to stay with her until Easter."

"Well! Wonders never cease! It may, however, be a good thing for you,
Rose. This lady must know many of the Zabriski set; and she will
doubtless give some entertainments to her cousins. And somehow you are
not popular with our own acquaintances, so that it would be a little
triumph for you to step up from among them. I should go and see your
friend in the morning."

"I intend to do so. I promised her brother I would be there early. He
said he was sure that Yanna had written to me."

Then she rose, laid down the hairpins she had been idly fingering, and
going to a closet, took out of it a bottle and a small wine glass.
Mrs. Filmer instantly arrested her hand. "What are you doing, Rose?"
she asked, angrily. "You took enough wine before coming upstairs. Do
you know that Harry said to me yesterday, 'Rose takes too much wine
for a young girl; she will spoil her complexion.'"

"Tell Harry to mind his own complexion. I really have a pain--an
indigestion, mamma. I always suffer from it when I eat a lobster
salad, and I foolishly ate one to-night. I am only going to take a
teaspoonful as medicine."

"Why, Rose! My God! Rose, it is brandy! Give the bottle to me at once!
What do you mean? Are you mad?"

"Not at all. I am only tired to death, and not well."

Mrs. Filmer had the bottle in her hand, and she sat down with it, and
began to cry hysterically. The fear, the doubt, that had been for some
time couchant, hushed, hidden, had suddenly sprung like a wild beast
at her heart. She felt as if she must choke, but in the midst of her
anguish, she clung to the bottle with the desperation of a mother who
holds back death from her child.

For some minutes Rose stood watching her, not affected by the grief
she witnessed; only con