she only thought these things. But there
were other thoughts that came up, as a sigh dismissed the
foregoing.

'Hazel!--' she ventured gently, when half of the way was done.

Hazel's thoughts had been so far away that she started.

'What?' she said hastily.

'May I talk to you, just a little bit?'

'O yes,--certainly. Anybody may do anything to me.' But she
kept her position unchanged. 'I am listening, Prim.'

'Hazel, dear, are you quite sure you are doing right?'

'About what?'

'About-- Please don't take it ill of me, but it troubles me,
Hazel. About this sort of life you are leading.'

'This sort of life?' Hazel repeated, thinking over some of the
days last past. 'Much you know about it!'

'I do not suppose I do. I cannot know much about it,' said
Primrose meekly. 'All _my_ way of life has been so different.
But do you think, Hazel, really, that there is not something
better to do with one's self than what all these gay people
do?'

'I think you are a great deal better than I am--if that will
content you.'

'Why should it content me?' said Primrose, laughing a little.
'I do not see anything pleasant in it, even supposing it were
true.'

'There is some use in training you,' Hazel went on; 'but no
amount of pruning would ever bring me into shape.' And with
that, somehow, there came up the thought of a little sketch,
wherein her hat swung gayly from the top of a rough hazel
bush; and with the thought a pain so keen, that for the moment
her head went down upon her hands on the window-sill.

Primrose was silent a few moments, not knowing just how to
speak.

'But Hazel,' she began, slowly--'all these gay people you are
so much with, they live just for the pleasure of the minute;
and when the pleasure of the minute is over, what remains? I
cannot bear to have you forget that, and become like them.'

'Like them?' said Hazel. 'Am I growing like Kitty Fisher?'

'No, no, no!' cried Primrose. 'You are not a bit like her, not
a bit. I do not mean that; but I mean, dear,--aren't you just
living for the moment's pleasure, and forgetting something
better?'

'Forgetting a good many things, you think.'

'Aren't you, Hazel? And I cannot bear to have you.'

'What am I to remember?' said the girl in a sort of dreamy
tone, with her thoughts on the wing.

'Remember that you have something to do with your life and
with yourself, Hazel; something truly noble and happy and
worth while. I am sure dancing-parties