t this time.

She had as many moods as an April day, and would have much surprised Dr.
Alec by her vagaries had he known them all. He saw enough, however, to
guess what was the matter, but took no notice, for he knew this fever
must run its course, and much medicine only does harm. The others were
busy about their own affairs, and Aunt Plenty was too much absorbed in
her rheumatism to think of love, for the cold weather set in early, and
the poor lady kept her room for days at a time with Rose as nurse.

Mac had spoken of going away in November, and Rose began to hope he
would, for she decided that this silent sort of adoration was bad for
her, as it prevented her from steadily pursuing the employments she
had marked out for that year. What was the use of trying to read useful
books when her thoughts continually wandered to those charming essays on
"Love" and "Friendship"? To copy antique casts, when all the masculine
heads looked like Cupid and the feminine ones like the Psyche on her
mantelpiece? To practice the best music if it ended in singing over and
over the pretty spring song without Phebe's bird chorus? Dulce's company
was pleasantest now, for Dulce seldom talked, so much meditation was
possible. Even Aunt Plenty's red flannel, camphor, and Pond's Extract
were preferable to general society, and long solitary rides on Rosa
seemed the only thing to put her in tune after one of her attempts to
find out what she ought to do or leave undone.

She made up her mind at last, and arming herself with an unmade pen,
like Fanny Squeers, she boldly went into the study to confer with Dr.
Alec at an hour when Mac was usually absent. "I want a pen for marking
can you make me one, Uncle?" she asked, popping her head in to be sure
he was alone.

"Yes, my dear," answered a voice so like the doctor's that she entered
without delay.

But before she had taken three steps she stopped, looking rather
annoyed, for the head that rose from behind the tall desk was not rough
and gray, but brown and smooth, and Mac, not Uncle Alec, sat there
writing. Late experience had taught her that she had nothing to fear
from a tete-a-tete and, having with difficulty taken a resolution, she
did not like to fail of carrying it out.

"Don't get up, I won't trouble you if you are busy, there is no hurry,"
she said, not quite sure whether it were wiser to stay or run away.

Mac settled the point by taking the pen out of her hand and beginning to
c