ters were always on the verge
of conflict. Rose had enough of her father in her to suffer in
resisting, but resist she must by the law of her nature.

Now, as she threw off her walking things, she fell first upon her
violin, and rushed through a Brahms's 'Liebeslied,' her eyes dancing,
her whole light form thrilling with the joy of it; and then with a
sudden revulsion she stopped playing, and threw herself down listlessly
by the open window. Close by against the wall was a little
looking-glass, by which she often arranged her ruffled locks; she
glanced at it now, it showed her a brilliant face enough, but drooping
lips, and eyes darkened with the extravagant melancholy of eighteen.

'It is come to a pretty pass,' she said to herself, 'that I should be
able to think of nothing but schemes for getting Catherine married and
out of my way! Considering what she is and what I am, and how she has
slaved for us all her life, I seem to have descended pretty low. Heigh
ho!'

And with a portentous sigh she dropped her chin on her hand. She was
half acting, acting to herself. Life was not really quite unbearable,
and she knew it. But it relieved her to overdo it.

'I wonder how much chance there is,' she mused presently. 'Mr. Elsmere
will soon be ridiculous. Why, _I_ saw him gather up those violets she
threw away yesterday on Moor Crag. And as for her, I don't believe she
has realised the situation a bit. At least, if she has, she is as unlike
other mortals in this as in everything else. But when she does----'

She frowned and meditated, but got no light on the problem. Chattie
jumped up on the window-sill, with her usual stealthy _aplomb_, and
rubbed herself against the girl's face.

'Oh, Chattie!' cried Rose, throwing her arms round the cat, 'if
Catherine 'll _only_ marry Mr. Elsmere, my dear, and be happy ever
afterwards, and set me free to live my own life a bit, I'll be so good,
you won't know me, Chattie. And you shall have a new collar, my beauty,
and cream till you die of it!'

And springing up she dragged in the cat, and snatching a scarlet anemone
from a bunch on the table, stood opposite Chattie, who stood slowly
waving her magnificent tail from side to side, and glaring as though it
were not at all to her taste to be hustled and bustled in this way.

'Now, Chattie, listen! Will she?'

A leaf of the flower dropped on Chattie's nose.

'Won't she? Will she? Won't she? Will---- Tiresome flower, why did
Nature gi