n only for a
few hours. We will all walk round together, and Peggy can give you the
interesting details."

He stepped to Eunice Rollo's side as he spoke, and, addressing a remark
so pointedly to her that it could not be answered by another, led the
way forward in the direction indicated. Rosalind could have borne the
rebuff more complacently if he had followed in the rear, when she could
have played off her little airs and graces for his benefit, but to
choose another girl before herself, and then to walk on ahead, without
even troubling himself to see if she followed--this was too much for her
composure. Her face clouded over, and though she made a valiant effort
to preserve her composure, it was in vain, and she was glad to find an
outlet for her irritation in pettish complainings.

"How I do detest garden-parties! Of all the senseless, dead-alive
entertainments they are the worst. Evewy fwesh one is worse than the
last."

"Why don't you stay away, then? The remedy is in your own hands,"
retorted Peggy coolly; but at this Rosalind's ill-humour broke out in
another direction.

"Peggy Saville, I think it is vewy mean and unkind of you to wefuse to
visit me when I asked you, and then to wush up from the countwee to stay
with new fwiends who have not half the claim upon you that I have. If
you would go to the Wollos', why not to me?"

"Because you did not ask me at the same time. A month ago it was
impossible for me to get away, and even now I am here for three days
only. I don't wish to appear unfriendly, Rosalind, but--"

"But you feel it," replied Rosalind, her voice changing suddenly into a
note of honest pathos. "Oh yes, Mawiquita, you are no better at
pwetending than you used to be, and I know quite well that you don't
appwove of me. I hate myself too, and twy to be diffewent, but it is no
use, circumstances are too stwong for me. But it's not the way to make
me better, Peggy Saville, to toss your head at me, and tweat me as if I
were beyond all hope of reformation."

"Rosalind--oh!" Peggy was breathless with consternation. It was a
horrible accusation, and the worst of it was that conscience told her
that it was true. She stared with penitent eyes into the accusing face,
nodded her head once or twice, and said with conviction:

"I'm a little wretch! Who am I, I should like to know, to judge another
girl? Dear old Rosalind, snub me all you can, and take no notice of my
airs. I'm not good