ng snubbed. It amuses her and
doesn't hurt me; and, of course, I know I am meant to be her foil. But,
really, sometimes she is too bad even for me.'

Catherine sighed, but held her peace. Like all strong persons, she kept
things very much to herself. It only made vexations more real to talk
about them. But she and Agnes discussed the winter and Berlin.

'You had better let her go,' said Agnes significantly; 'she will go
anyhow.'

A few days afterwards Catherine, opening the drawing-room door
unexpectedly, came upon Rose sitting idly at the piano, her hands
resting on the keys, and her great gray eyes straining out of her white
face with an expression which sent the sister's heart into her shoes.

'How you steal about, Catherine!' cried the player, getting up and
shutting the piano. 'I declare you are just like Millais's Gray Lady in
that ghostly gown.'

Catherine came swiftly across the floor. She had just left her child,
and the sweet dignity of motherhood was in her step, her look. She came
and threw her arms round the girl.

'Rose, dear, I have settled it all with mamma. The money can be managed,
and you shall go to Berlin for the winter when you like.'

She drew herself back a little, still with her arms round Rose's waist,
and looked at her smiling, to see how she took it.

Rose had a strange movement of irritation. She drew herself out of
Catherine's grasp.

'I don't know that I had settled on Berlin,' she said coldly. 'Very
possibly Leipsic would be better.'

Catherine's face fell.

'Whichever you like, dear. I have been thinking about it ever since that
day you spoke of it--you remember--and now I have talked it over with
mamma. If she can't manage all the expense we will help. Oh, Rose,' and
she came nearer again, timidly, her eyes melting, 'I know we haven't
understood each other. I have been ignorant, I think, and narrow. But I
meant it for the best, dear--I did----'

Her voice failed her, but in her look there seemed to be written the
history of all the prayers and yearnings of her youth over the pretty
wayward child who had been her joy and torment. Rose could not but meet
that look--its nobleness, its humble surrender.

Suddenly two large tears rolled down her cheeks. She dashed them away
impatiently.

'I am not a bit well,' she said, as though in irritable excuse both to
herself and Catherine. 'I believe I have had a headache for a
fortnight.'

And then she put her arms down on a table