” “Why?” “If I were bad at it, you would be on your way to the hospital by now. " The foregoing conversation, having been conducted throughout in a low tone, and apart, had not reached the ears of Mr. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. She turned with an effort. .
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