look at
the way she runs! She's as fleet as a hare."

"She have very neat ankles," said John. "I call her a neat figure of a
woman."

"Don't tell me," said Betty. "Much you know what a neat figure of a woman
means. Miss Tredgold's a haristocrat. Now, if you'll believe me, she's
the moral image of the duchess."

"What duchess?" cried John.

"The Duchess of Mauleverer-Wolverhampton--her that's just made a widow,
and is crying her eyes out over the murdered remains of the poor dook."

"Sometimes," said John, "I think that you have gone off your head, Betty.
But I can't stay to listen to any more of these nonsenses. I have my
garden to look after."

The final delight before the curtain of that birthday was dropped down
for ever found its vent in music--music in which Mr. Dale took a part,
and in which Miss Tredgold excelled herself. It was the music that awoke
Pauline's slumbering conscience. It was during that music that her heart
truly began to understand itself.

"I am wicked--a coward and a liar," she thought. "But, all the same, I am
going on, for I must. Aunt Sophy loves me, and I love her, and I wouldn't
have her love turned to hate for all the world. She must never find out
what I did in the past, and the only way to keep it from her is to go on
as I am going on."

CHAPTER XVII.

A WILD FROLIC.

The first part of the birthday was absolutely over, but the second
part--the terrifying, awful part--was at hand. Aunt Sophy had kissed
Pauline and had blessed her by a look. Her father had also put his
trembling hand on her shoulder.

"When you want to read that lovely volume of Cicero," he said, "come to
me and I will teach you. I will spare a few minutes of my valuable time
to give you instruction."

Verena had also kissed her heartily, and she and the rest of her sisters
had gone to bed. They were all tired. Verena came for a minute into
Pauline's little room.

"I am too sleepy even to brush my hair in your room to-night, Paulie,"
she said. "I am too sleepy to talk about our long happy day. What a pile
of presents you have got! Don't you think you have had a perfect
birthday? I only wish mine was near at hand."

"It will come in good time," said Pauline; "and even birthdays----"

She broke off abruptly.

"What do you mean by 'even birthdays'?" asked Verena. "What were you
going to say?"

"I was going to say that even birthdays had drawbacks. I know that I am
dead-tired."

"You look it,