ith Mark in
the studio; give Miss Hemming directions about your summer things, or go
into town about your bonnet. There is a matinee, try that; or make
calls, for you owe fifty at least. Now I'm sure there's employment
enough and amusement enough for any reasonable person."

Prue looked triumphant, but Sylvia was not a "reasonable person," and
went on in her former despondingly petulant strain.

"I'm tired of drawing; my head is a jumble of other people's ideas
already, and Herr Pedalsturm has put the piano out of tune. Mark always
makes a model of me if I go to him, and I don't like to see my eyes,
arms, or hair in all his pictures. Miss Hemming's gossip is worse than
fussing over new things that I don't need. Bonnets are my torment, and
matinees are wearisome, for people whisper and flirt till the music is
spoiled. Making calls is the worst of all; for what pleasure or profit
is there in running from place to place to tell the same polite fibs
over and over again, and listen to scandal that makes you pity or
despise your neighbors. I shall not get up for any of these things."

Prue leaned on the bedpost meditating with an anxious face till a
forlorn hope appeared which caused her to exclaim--

"Mark and I are going to see Geoffrey Moor, this morning, just home from
Switzerland, where his poor sister died, you know. You really ought to
come with us and welcome him, for though you can hardly remember him,
he's been so long away, still, as one of the family, it is a proper
compliment on your part. The drive will do you good, Geoffrey will be
glad to see you, it is a lovely old place, and as you never saw the
inside of the house you cannot complain that you are tired of that yet."

"Yes I can, for it will never seem as it has done, and I can no longer
go where I please now that a master's presence spoils its freedom and
solitude for me. I don't know him, and don't care to, though his name is
so familiar. New people always disappoint me, especially if I've heard
them praised ever since I was born. I shall not get up for any Geoffrey
Moor, so that bait fails."

Sylvia smiled involuntarily at her sister's defeat, but Prue fell back
upon her last resource in times like this. With a determined gesture she
plunged her hand into an abysmal pocket, and from a miscellaneous
collection of treasures selected a tiny vial, presenting it to Sylvia
with a half pleading, half authoritative look and tone.

"I'll leave you in peace