anything wrong, Yanna. It is imprudent of
Rose, and not right; and I wonder at her, for Antony told me an hour
ago that little Emma was seriously ill. What a worry he does make over
that baby of theirs!"

"It is such a frail, lovely little creature; and Antony has such a
tender heart."

"And Rose does not hover over her nursery, as you do, Yanna."

"But you think there is nothing wrong, Harry?"

"In a legal sense, nothing. But, nevertheless, it is a shame for Rose
to carry on such intrigues; and I will see her in the morning and give
her some plain words. Antony is too careful of her feelings. I am glad
she is not my wife."

Then the subject was dropped, and Adriana did not entertain it again.
In her secret heart, she felt that she might forgive Rose if she were
driven to deceive her husband by the force of a strong passion; but
for this silly, weak drifting into sin and danger on little currents
of vanity and sensual romance, she had no toleration. Refusing
consciously to reason out the exact turpitude of Antony's wife, anger
at the erring woman lay at the bottom of all her thoughts, as she
moved about the household duties of the day. "Such a good husband!
Such a lovely little daughter! How can Rose wrong them both so
shamefully?" These unspoken words rang to and fro like a fretful
complaining in her inner self.

While she was taking lunch, Rose came to see her. She entered the room
with much of her old effusiveness; she kissed and petted her
sister-in-law, and said: "Give me a strong cup of tea, Yanna. I am
worn out. Baby was ill all night, and Antony would neither sleep nor
let any one else sleep."

"But if Emma were sick you would not be able to sleep, I am sure. And
she must be better, or you would not have left the little one at
all."

"Mamma is watching her. I just ran over to see you. It always rests me
and makes me strong to see you, Yanna. I know what you are going to
say--that I might, then, come oftener--so also I might go oftener to
church. But I do not love you the less, Yanna; when I am good I always
love you."

"Dear Rose, I wish you were always what you call 'good.'"

"I wish I were! I do long to be good! I am so weak and silly, but
there is a good Rose somewhere in me. Do you think baby is really very
sick?"

"Babies all suffer dreadfully, Rose, in teething. I often wonder how
grown-up people would endure half-a-dozen teeth forcing their way
through sore, inflamed gums. There would be