te the matter far too calmly. She turned white with
agitation, and the pupils of her eyes dilated until they appeared to
cover the entire iris. It was characteristic of her that it was not
anger which so affected her, but real honest horror and distress that a
fellow-creature should live and entertain so poor an opinion of her
delightful self. She was not, it was true, particularly devoted to
Mary, but it had never for a fraction of a second occurred to her that
Mary could be otherwise than enthusiastically loyal to herself. And now
that the horrible truth was disclosed, her absorbing desire was to
reform so mistaken an attitude of mind as speedily as possible.

"Oh, Mary!" she cried tragically. "How you misjudge me! How little you
know my real inmost nature! Ask mother--ask Rowena--ask anyone who
knows me well; they will all tell you the same thing--I am all heart. I
live on my affections; I don't want anything but just to be happy, and
have people love me. What have I ever said or done to you that you
should think such perfectly horrid things? It hurts me to be
misjudged--it hurts awfully! It's like a knife sticking into my heart."

"Because you want to be praised, and can't endure reproof, even if it is
for your good. It isn't _pleasant_ to find fault, Dreda," declared Mary
judicially; "but if I don't speak out I may blame myself in the future.
I am afraid of what may happen if you float along as you are doing,
blind to your own failings. Some day something may happen to put you to
the test, and then you will _fail_, and be humiliated in your own eyes
and those of the world."

Dreda regarded her with eyes full of a solemn reproach.

"May you be forgiven, Mary! I forgive you. I'm sorry for your want of
charity and understanding. I'm not surprised that you don't understand
me; we are made on such different lines; but you ought not to judge.--I
don't judge _you_. I think you are very painstaking and industrious. I
bear you no ill-will, Mary. I'm only sorry for you."

So far from being melted by this touching forgiveness, Mary flushed with
anger, shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and turned back to her desk,
whereon lay the first lines of an essay on one of Addison's "Spectator"
Essays. An extract from the essay had been given as subject, with the
significant words: "Discuss this," inscribed beneath, and Mary's mood
was not improved by the fact that with regard to ethical sentiments she
seemed t