hen her daughter had smilingly referred to the fact. "The society of
the Gwynnes has really proved a great addition to our happiness. How
kind and warmhearted Mrs. Gwynne is--so earnest in her friendship for
us, too!"

"Yes, indeed. Do you know, it struck me that it must have been from her
report of us, that aunt Flora Rothesay sent the kind message which
the Gwynnes brought to-day. I own, it made me happy! To think that my
long-past romantic dream should be likely to come true, and that next
year we should go to Scotland and see papa's dear old aunt."

"_You_ will go, my child."

"And you too, darling. Think how much you would like it, when the summer
comes. You will be quite strong then; and how pleasant it will be to
know that good aunt Flora, of whom the Gwynnes talk so much. She must
be a very, very old lady now, though Mrs. Gwynne says she is quite
beautiful still. But she can't be so beautiful as my own mamma. O,
darling, there never will be seen such a wondrous old lady as you, when
you are seventy or eighty, Then, I shall be quite elderly myself. We
shall seem just like two sisters--growing old together."

Olive never spoke, never dreamed of any other possibility than this.

Calmly, cheerfully, passed the winter, Miss Rothesay devoting herself,
as heretofore, to the two great interests of her life; but she had other
minor interests gathering up around her, which in some respects were of
much service. They prevented that engrossing study, which was often more
than her health could bear. Once when reading letters from Rome, from
Mr. Vanbrugh and Meliora, Olive said,

"Mamma, I think on the whole I am happier here than I was at Woodford
Cottage. I feel less of an artist and more of a woman."

"And, Olive, I am happy too--happy to think that my child is safe with
me, and not carried off to Rome." For Olive had of course told her
mother of that circumstance in her life, which might have changed its
current so entirely. "My daughter, I would not have you leave me to
marry any man in the world!"

"I never shall, darling!" she answered. And she felt that this was true.
Her heart was absorbed in her mother.

Nevertheless, the other interests before mentioned, though quite
external, filled up many little crevices in that loving heart which had
room for so many affections. Among these was one which, in Olive's whole
lifetime, had been an impulse, strong, but ever unfulfilled--love for a
child. She took to her he