er to smile in church.'

Max seemed so thoroughly put out by my remark that I thought it better
to qualify my speech. 'Most likely Miss Darrell had been nagging at her.'

His face cleared up directly. 'Depend upon it, that was the reason she
looked so grave,' he said, with an air of relief. 'Miss Darrell can say
ill-tempered things sometimes. Miss Hamilton is never as lively as Miss
Elizabeth; she is always quiet and thoughtful; some girls are like that,
they are not sparkling and frothy.'

I let him think that I accepted this statement as gospel, but in my heart
I thought I had never seen a sadder face than that of Gladys Hamilton; to
me it looked absolutely joyless, as though some strange blight had fallen
on her youth. I kept these thoughts to myself, like a wise woman, and
when Max looked at me rather searchingly, as though he expected a verbal
assent, I said, 'Yes, you are right, some girls are like that,' and left
him to glean my meaning out of this parrot-like sentence.

I could make nothing of Max this evening: he seemed restless and ill at
ease; now and then he fell into a brown study and roused himself with
difficulty. I was almost glad when he took his leave at last, for I had
a feeling somehow--and a curious feeling it was--that we were talking at
cross-purposes, and that our speeches seemed to be lost hopelessly in a
mental fog; the cipher to our meaning seemed missing.

But he bade me good-night as affectionately as though I had done him a
world of good: and when he had gone I sat down to my piano and sang all
my old favourite songs, until the lateness of the hour warned me to
extinguish my lamp and retire to bed.

I was just sinking into a sweet sleep when I heard Nathaniel's voice
bidding some one good-night, and in another moment I could hear firm
quick footsteps down the gravel walk, followed by Nap's joyous bark.

Mr. Hamilton had been in the house all the time I had been amusing
myself. I do not know why the idea annoyed me so. 'How I wish he would
keep away sometimes!' I thought fretfully. 'He will think I am practising
for to-morrow: I will not sing if they press me to do so.' And with this
ill-natured resolve I fell asleep.

My dinner-engagement obliged me to go to Phoebe quite early in the
afternoon. Miss Locke looked surprised as she opened the door, but she
greeted me with a pleased smile.

'Phoebe will hardly be looking for you yet,' she said, leading the way
into the kitchen in the e