utiful Lucina, who inclined her head softly in response.
Jerome had thus far never felt on his own account jealousy of any
human being, he had also never been made ignominious by self-pity;
now, both experiences came to him. Seeing that look of Lawrence
Prescott's, he was suddenly filled with that bitterness of grudging
another the sweet which one desires for one's self which is like no
other bitterness on earth; and he who had hitherto pitied only the
deprivations of others pitied his own, and so became the pauper of
his own spirit. "He likes her," he told himself; "of course she'll
like him. He's Doctor Prescott's son. He's got everything without
working for it--I've got nothing."

Jerome looked at neither of them again. When meeting was over, he
strode rapidly down the aisle, lest he encounter them.

"What ailed you in meeting, Jerome?" Elmira asked as they were going
home.

"Nothing."

"You looked so pale once I thought you were going to faint away."

"I tell you nothing ailed me."

"You were dreadfully pale," persisted Elmira. She was so happy that
morning that she had more self-assertion than usual. Lawrence
Prescott had looked around at her three times; he had smiled at her
once, when he turned to leave the pew at the close of meeting. Jerome
had not noticed that, and she had not noticed Lawrence's smile at
Lucina. She had been too fluttered to look up when Lawrence first
entered.

That afternoon Jerome and Elmira set out for meeting again, but when
they reached the turn of the road Jerome stopped.

"I guess I won't go this afternoon," said he.

"Why, what's the matter? Don't you feel well?" Elmira asked.

"Yes, I feel well enough, but it's warm. I guess I won't go." Elmira
stared at him wonderingly. "Run along; you'll be late," said he,
trying to smile.

"I'm afraid you are sick, Jerome."

"I tell you I am not. You'll be late."

Finally Elmira went on, though with many backward glances. Jerome sat
down on the stone wall, behind a huge growth of lilac. He could see
through a leafy screen the people in the main road wending their way
to meeting. He had suddenly resolved not to go, lest he see Lucina
Merritt again.

Presently there was out in the main road a graceful swing of light
skirts and a gliding of shoulders and head which made his heart leap.
Lucina was going to meeting with her mother. The moment she stirred
the distance with dim advances of motion, Jerome knew her. It seemed
to him th