k the door, dearie; I want to speak to you."

Eleanor flung herself off the bed and opened the door. "I tell you, I
don't want any dinner, Aunt Enid," she declared petulantly.

Miss Enid drew her down on the bed beside her and regarded her with
pensive persuasion. "I know, Nelchen; I often feel like that. But you
must come down and make a pretense of eating. It upsets your grandmother
to have any one of us absent from meals."

"Everything I do upsets her!" cried Eleanor with tragic insistence. "I
can't please her--there's no use trying. Why does she treat me the way
she does? Why does she sometimes almost seem to hate me?"

Miss Enid's eyes involuntarily glanced at the picture of Eleanor's mother
over the desk, taken in the doublet and hose of _Rosalind_.

"Hush, child; you mustn't say such awful things," she said, drawing the
girl close and stroking her hair. "Mother adores you. Think of all she
has done for you ever since you were a tiny baby. What other girl of your
acquaintance has her own car, all the pretty clothes she can wear, and as
much pin-money as she can spend?"

"But that's not what I _want_!" cried Eleanor tragically. "I want to _be_
something and to _do_ something. I feel like I am in prison here. I'm not
good and resigned like you and Aunt Isobel, and I simply refuse to go
through life standing grandmother's tyranny."

Poor Eleanor, so intolerably sensitive to contacts, so hopelessly
confused in her bearings, sitting red-eyed and miserable, kicking her
feet against the side of the bed, looked much more like a naughty child
than like the radiant Lady Bountiful who had dispensed favors and
received homage in the hospital a few hours before.

So swift was the sympathetic action of her nerves that any change in her
physical condition affected her whole nature, making her an enigma to
herself as well as to others. Even as she sat there rebellious and
defiant, her eyes fell upon the small morocco box on her pillow, and she
picked it up and opened it.

"Oh, Aunt Enid!" she cried in instant remorse. "Just look what she's
given me! Her string of pearls! The ones she wore in the portrait! And
just think of what I've been saying about her. I'm a beast, a regular
little beast!"

And with characteristic impetuosity she flung herself on Miss Enid's neck
and burst into tears.

CHAPTER 6

The sun was getting ready to set on Sunday afternoon when a tall,
trim-looking f