y-like sphere, but he was far from sure that your
scheme would be practical. He foresaw all kinds of difficulties, and
that he did not consider you at all the person for such a position."

"Why did not Uncle Keith say all this to me himself?" I demanded.

"Because he said it would only be sowing the wind to raise the
whirlwind. In an argument he declares women always have the best of it,
because they can talk the fastest, and never will own they are beaten;
to raise objections would only be to strengthen you more in your
purpose. I think," finished Aunt Agatha, in her softest voice, "that he
hoped your plan would die a natural death, for he recommended me to
withdraw all opposition."

Oh, the cunning of these men. I would not have believed all this of
Uncle Keith. I was far too angry to talk any more to Aunt Agatha; I only
commanded my voice sufficiently to say that I fully intended to keep my
appointment the next day; and as she only looked at me very sadly and
said nothing, I had no excuse for lingering any longer, so I took up my
candlestick and marched into my own room.

It felt cold and desolate, and as I sat down by the toilet table, such
sad eyes looked into mine from the depths of the mirror, that a curious
self-pitying feeling made me prop my chin on my hands and exchange looks
of silent sympathy with my image.

My want of beauty never troubled me; it has always been my private
conviction that we ought to be thankful if we are tolerably pleasant in
other people's eyes; beauty is too rare a gift to be often reproduced.
If people thought me nice-looking I was more than content; perhaps it
was surprising that, with such good-looking parents, I was just ordinary
and nothing else, "But never mind, Merle, you have a good figure and
talking eyes," as Aunt Agatha once said to me. "I was much plainer at
your age, my dear, but my plainness never prevented me from having a
happy life and a good husband."

"Well, perhaps I should like a happy life, too, but as for the
husband--never dream of that, my good girl; remember your miserable
deficiency in this enlightened age. No man in his senses would condone
that; put such thoughts resolutely away and think only of your work in
life. _Laborare est orare._"

(_To be continued._)

THE CONTENTS OF MY WORK-BOX.

HOW BUTTONS ARE MADE.

It is scarcely possible to determine when buttons, which are both useful
and ornamental, were first made. In the paintings of th