ovely it is after the shower of last night!
Fred, if you could leave Latin verses and Greek essays you might take us
to drive. We could stop and bring your aunt with us for lunch, Sylvie."

"Thank you for her. She has gone to Coldbridge to see about a nurse for
the Orphans' Home, and will not be back until four."

"Then I can keep you without a single scruple," and Mrs. Lawrence looked
oddly pleased. "Fred, tell them not to put the horses out. What
wonderful health your aunt has, Sylvie! I don't see how she can endure
the bother of those schools and institutions: it would wear me out in
no time. But I have had a family of children;" and she leaned back on
her pillow with a satisfied air.

The carriage came around again; and with the assistance of a maid,
Sylvie, and her son, Mrs. Lawrence walked down stairs. He handed both
ladies in, and seated himself opposite with the air of a prince.

Sylvie looked so bright and gay this morning, her velvety eyes full of
tender light, her cheek all abloom with youth and health, the sweet
scarlet lips half smiling, and her attire far enough removed from the
rigor of fashion to have a kind of originality about it. She always wore
something that added tone and brightness,--a bit of colored ribbon or a
flower, or a bow that flashed out unexpectedly, as if greeting you with
laughing surprise.

"What do you do to mother, Sylvie?" Fred asked, with a touch of
complimentary curiosity in his voice. "Yesterday she was dull and
moping. I could not persuade her to drive."

"It was so warm, no wonder. I felt dull and drowsy myself. But to-day is
the perfection of loveliness."

"And you have a charm, Sylvie. I do not know but it is your perfect,
buoyant health. You seem to lift one up. I only wish I could keep you
all the time," remarked Mrs. Lawrence with a touch of longing.

Sylvie colored, and averted her eyes: then she gave herself a kind of
mental shaking, and resolutely glanced back, uttering some rather trite
remark. She would not suspect or understand.

They came home again, and had lunch: then, while Mrs. Lawrence was
taking her siesta, Fred carried off Sylvie to his study. It was
luxuriously beautiful. Several gems of pictures adorned the wall, which
had been newly frescoed to suit his fancy. Easy chairs lured one to test
their capacious depth, some exquisitely-bound books were arranged in a
carved and polished case, and the table was daintily littered with
papers. He had an ide