ment near the folding-doors, exchanging greetings with the
lady of the house, the remembrance of one time, when she had stood there
before, came sharply back to her, and, for a moment, her heart grew hot
with the angry pain and shame that had throbbed in it then. It was only
for a moment, and it was not for herself. The pain was crossed by a
thrill of gladness, for the more certain knowledge that came to her that
for herself she was content, that she wished nothing changed in her own
life, that she had outlived all that was to be regretted of that
troubled time. She had known this before, and the knowledge came home
to her joyfully as she stood there, but it did not lighten her burden of
dread of what might lie in the future for her sister.

It did not leave her all the evening. She watched the pretty, gentle
Amy, flitting about among her father's guests, with a feeling which, but
for the guileless sweetness of the girl's face, the innocent
unconsciousness of every look and movement, might have grown to
bitterness at last. She watched her ways and words with Mr Millar,
wishing, in her look or manner, to see some demand for his admiration
and attention, that might excuse the wandering of his fancy from Rose.
But she watched in vain. Amy was sweet and modest with him as with
others, more friendly and unreserved than with most, perhaps, but sweet
and modest, and unconscious, still.

"She is very like Lily Elphinstone, is she not?" said her brother Harry
in her ear.

She started at his voice; but she did not turn toward him, or remove her
eyes from the young girl's face.

"She is very like Lily--in all things," said Graeme; and to herself she
added, "and she will steal the treasure from my darling's life, as Lily
stole it from mine--innocently and unconsciously, but inevitably still--
and from Harry's, too, it may be."

And, with a new pang, she turned to look at her brother's face; but
Harry was no longer at her side. Mr Millar was there, and his eyes had
been following hers, as Harry's had been.

"She is very sweet and lovely--very like Lily, is she not?" he
whispered.

"Very like her," repeated Graeme, her eyes closing with a momentary
feeling of sickness.

"You are very tired of all this, I am afraid," said he.

"Very tired! If Harry only would take me home!"

"Shall I take you home? At least, let me take you out of the crowd.
Have you seen the new picture they are all talking about? Shall I take