When he took her hand, with a word of friendly greeting, he noticed a
change in her, though she had made a valiant effort to recover her
composure. This was a new Rosemary, with eyes shining and the colour
flaming in her cheeks and lips.

"Spring seems to have come to you, too," he said, seating himself on the
log beside her. "How well you look!"

The deep crimson mounted to her temples, then as swiftly retreated.
"Better take down the ribbon," she suggested, practically.

"I've been watching a long time for this," he resumed, as he folded it
and restored it to its place in the hollow tree. "What have you been
doing?"

"All the usual dreary things, to which a mountain of sewing has been
added."

"Is that a new gown?"

She laughed, mirthlessly. "It's as new a gown as I'll ever have," she
returned, trying to keep her voice even. "My wardrobe consists of an
endless parade of brown alpaca and brown gingham garments, all made
exactly alike."

[Sidenote: Thwarted on All Sides]

"Like a dozen stage soldiers, marching in and out, to create the
illusion of a procession?"

"I suppose so. You know I've never seen a stage, much less a stage
soldier."

Alden's heart softened with pity. He longed to take Rosemary to town and
let her feast her eyes upon some gorgeous spectacle; to see her senses
run riot, for once, with colour and light and sound.

"I feel sometimes," she was saying, "as though I had sold my soul for
pretty things in some previous existence, and was paying the penalty for
it now."

"You love pretty things, don't you?"

She turned brimming eyes toward him. "Love them?" she repeated,
brokenly. "There aren't words enough to say how much!"

From a fresh point of view he saw her countless deprivations, binding
her, thwarting her, oppressing her on all sides by continual denial. His
own rebellion against circumstances seemed weak and unworthy.

"Whenever I think of you," he said, in a different tone, "I feel ashamed
of myself. I have freedom, of a certain sort, and you've never had a
chance to learn the meaning of the word. You're dominated, body and
soul, by a couple of old women who haven't discovered, as yet, that the
earth is round and not flat."

[Sidenote: Freedom]

"My soul isn't bound," returned Rosemary, softly, "but it would have
been, if it hadn't been for you."

"I? Why, my dear girl, what have I done?"

"Everything. Think of all the books you've loaned me, all the candles
you've given