he pines.

"Oh, Dent, why did you ever ask me to marry you!" thought Pansy, in
a moment of soul failure.

Mrs. Meredith was sitting on the veranda and was partly concealed
by a running rose. She was not expecting visitors; she had much to
think of this morning, and she rose wonderingly and reluctantly as
Pansy came forward: she did not know who it was, and she did not
advance.

Pansy ascended the steps and paused, looking with wistful eyes at
the great lady who was to be her mother, but who did not even greet
her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Meredith," she said, in a shrill treble,
holding herself somewhat in the attitude of a wooden soldier, "I
suppose I shall have to introduce myself: it is Pansy."

The surprise faded from Mrs. Meredith's face, the reserve melted.
With outstretched hands she advanced smiling.

"How do you do. Pansy," she said with motherly gentleness; "it is
very kind of you to come and see me, and I am very glad to know
you. Shall we go in where it is cooler?"

They entered the long hall. Near the door stood a marble bust:
each wall was lined with portraits. She passed between Dent's
ancestors into the large darkened parlors.

"Sit here, won't you?" said Mrs. Meredith, and she even pushed
gently forward the most luxurious chair within her reach. To Pansy
it seemed large enough to hold all the children. At home she was
used to chairs that were not only small, but hard. Wherever the
bottom of a chair seemed to be in that household, there it was--if
it was anywhere. Actuated now by this lifelong faith in literal
furniture, she sat down with the utmost determination where she was
bid; but the bottom offered no resistance to her descending weight
and she sank. She threw out her hands and her hat tilted over her
eyes. It seemed to her that she was enclosed up to her neck in
what might have been a large morocco bath-tub--which came to an end
at her knees. She pushed back her hat, crimson.

"That was a surprise," she said, frankly admitting the fault, "but
there'll never be another such."

"I am afraid you found it warm walking, Pansy," said Mrs. Meredith,
opening her fan and handing it to her.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Meredith, I never fan!" said Pansy, declining
breathlessly. "I have too much use for my hands. I'd rather
suffer and do something else. Besides, you know I am used to
walking in the sun. I am very fond of botany, and I am out of
doors for hours at a time when I can find the chan