e said, "but some splendid cactuses."

"I do not love roses."

"Is it possible? But Verry does not care so much for them, either.
Lilies are her favorites; she has a variety. Look at this Arab lily;
it is like a tongue of fire."

"Where does she keep her flowers?"

"In wire baskets, in her room. But I must go to make Arthur some
gingerbread. He likes mine the best, and I like to please him."

"I dare say you spoil him."

"Just as you were spoiled."

"Not in Barmouth, Aunt Merce."

"No, not in Barmouth, Cassy."

I went from room to room, seeing little to interest me. My zeal oozed
away for exploration, and when I entered my chamber I could have said,
"This spot is the summary of my wants, for it contains me." I must
be my own society, and as my society was not agreeable, the more
circumscribed it was, the better I could endure it. What a dreary
prospect! The past was vital, the present dead! Life in Surrey must be
dull. How could I forget or enjoy? I put the curtains down, and told
Temperance, who was wandering about, not to call me to dinner. I
determined, if possible, to surpass my dullness by indulgence. But
underneath it all I could not deny that there was a specter, whose
aimless movements kept me from stagnating. I determined to drag it up
and face it.

"Come," I called, "and stand before me; we will reason together."

It uncovered, and asked:

"Do you feel remorse and repentance?"

"Neither!"

"Why suffer then?"

"I do not know why."

"You confess ignorance. Can you confess that you are selfish,
self-seeking--devilish?"

"Are you my devil?"

No answer.

"Am I cowardly, or a liar?"

It laughed, a faint, sarcastic laugh.

"At all events," I continued, "are not my actions better than my
thoughts?"

"Which makes the sinner, and which the saint?"

"Can I decide?"

"Why not?"

"My teachers and myself are so far apart! I have found a counterpart;
but, specter, you were born of the union."

My head was buried in my arms; but I heard a voice at my elbow--a
shrill, scornful voice it was. "Are you coming down to tea, then?"

Looking up, I saw Fanny. "Tea-time so soon?"

"Yes, it is. You think nothing of time; have nothing to do, I
suppose."

And she clasped her hands over her apron--hands so small and thin that
they looked like those of an old woman. Her hair was light and scanty,
her complexion sallow, and her eyes a palish gray; but her features
were delicate and pretty. She seeme