nvoluntarily. Not wishing to discuss 'Marianne' with
either Catherine or her sister, Langham had just closed the book and was
returning it to his pocket. But she had caught sight of it.

You are reading "Marianne,"' she exclaimed, the slightest possible touch
of wonder in her tone.

'Yes, it is "Marianne,"' said Langham, surprised in his turn. He had
very old-fashioned notions about the limits of a girl's acquaintance
with the world, knowing nothing, therefore, as may be supposed, about
the modern young woman, and he was a trifle scandalized by Rose's accent
of knowledge.

'I read it last week,' she said carelessly; 'and the Piersons'--turning
to her sister--'have promised to take me to see it next winter if
Desforets comes, again, as everyone expects.'

'Who wrote it?' asked Catherine innocently. The theatre not only gave
her little pleasure, but wounded in her a hundred deep unconquerable
instincts. But she had long ago given up in despair the hope of
protecting against Rose's dramatic instincts with success.

'Dumas _fils_' said Langham dryly. He was distinctly a good deal
astonished.

Rose looked at him, and something brought a sudden flame into her cheek.

'It is one of the best of his,' she said defiantly. 'I have read a good
many others. Mr. Pierson lent me a volume. And when I was introduced to
Madame Desforets last week, she agreed with me that "Marianne" is nearly
the best of all.'

All this, of course, with the delicate nose well in air.

'You were introduced to Madame Desforets?' cried Langham, surprised this
time quite out of discretion. Catherine looked at him with anxiety. The
reputation of the black-eyed little French actress, who had been for a
year or two the idol of the theatrical public of Paris and London, had
reached even to her, and the tone of Langham's exclamation struck her
painfully.

'I was,' said Rose proudly. 'Other people may think it a disgrace. _I_
thought it an honor!'

Langham could not help smiling, the girl's naivete was so evident. It
was clear that, if she had read "Marianne," she had never understood it.

'Rose, you don't know!' exclaimed Catherine, turning to her sister with
a sudden trouble in her eyes. 'I don't think Mrs. Pierson ought to have
done that, without consulting mamma especially.'

'Why not?' cried Rose vehemently. Her face was burning, and her heart
was full of something like hatred of Langham but she tried hard to be
calm.

'I think,' she said, wi