did not want Bernard to come up again. When I
awoke I had a dreadful headache, and I made up my mind I would not go
down to tea. I could do no good by going down, and, so far as I was
concerned, it did not matter in the least whether Margaret was there or
not. In fact, I did not care about anything. Let George marry whoever he
pleased. If I should die Margaret Temple had promised to take care of
Bernard. Everything was settled, and there was no sense in making any
more plans. So I got ready for another nap, and when Bernard came up I
told him I had a headache, and did not want any tea.

"That evening Bernard sat and looked at me without speaking, as was
sometimes his habit, and then he said:

"'Rosa, I do not understand this at all, and I want you to tell me why
you were so extravagantly glad when you found my brother George was
coming here, and why you were so overcome by your emotions when you
heard of his engagement.'

"'Oh, Bernard,' I cried, 'if it were anybody else I might tell
everything, but I cannot tell you--I cannot tell you!' And I am sure I
spoke truly, for how could I have told that dear man what I had said to
Margaret Temple; and how jealous I had been of her afterwards; and how I
had planned for her to marry George; and that, after my funeral, he
should go to live with them; and about my picture on the wall; and all
the rest of it? It was simply impossible. And if he did not know all
this, how could he understand my feelings when I heard that George was
engaged?

"I could not answer him; I could only sob, and repeat what I had said
before--that if it were anybody else I might speak, but that I could
never tell him. Soon after that he went down-stairs, and I went to
sleep.

"Bernard was never cross with me,--I do not believe he could be if he
tried,--but the next morning he was very quiet, and soon after breakfast
he and Mr. Cheston and George went fishing. If the incidents of the day
before had not occurred I suppose they would have done something in
which Emily and I could have joined; but some sort of change had come
over things, and it was plain enough that even George did not want me.
So I sat alone under the tree where George had told me of his
engagement, feeling very much troubled and very lonely. I wanted to tell
everything to somebody, but there was no one to tell. It would be
impossible to speak to Emily; she would have no sympathy with me; and if
I should tell her everything I had plann