ore by herself. She went back to tea dejected as she
had not been for years. San Salvatore had taken her carefully built-up
semblance of happiness away from her, and given her nothing in
exchange. Yes--it had given her yearnings in exchange, this ache and
longing, this queer feeling of bosom; but that was worse than nothing.
And she who had learned balance, who never at home was irritated but
always able to be kind, could not, even in her dejection, that
afternoon endure Mrs. Fisher's assumption of the position as hostess at
tea.

One would have supposed that such a little thing would not have
touched her, but it did. Was her nature changing? Was she to be not
only thrown back on long--stifled yearnings after Frederick, but also
turned into somebody who wanted to fight over little things? After
tea, when both Mrs. Fisher and Lady Caroline had disappeared again--it
was quite evident that nobody wanted her--she was more dejected than
ever, overwhelmed by the discrepancy between the splendour outside her,
the warm, teeming beauty and self-sufficiency of nature, and the blank
emptiness of her heart.

Then came Lotty, back to dinner, incredibly more freckled,
exuding the sunshine she had been collecting all day, talking,
laughing, being tactless, being unwise, being without reticence; and
Lady Caroline, so quiet at tea, woke up to animation, and Mrs. Fisher
was not so noticeable, and Rose was beginning to revive a little, for
Lotty's spirits were contagious as she described the delights of her
day, a day which might easily to any one else have had nothing in it but
a very long and very hot walk and sandwiches, when she suddenly said
catching Rose's eye, "Letter gone?"

Rose flushed. This tactlessness . . .

"What letter?" asked Scrap, interested. Both her elbows were on
the table and her chin was supported in her hands, for the nut-stage
had been reached, and there was nothing for it but to wait in as
comfortable as position as possible till Mrs. Fisher had finished
cracking.

"Asking her husband here," said Lotty.

Mrs. Fisher looked up. Another husband? Was there to be no end
to them? Nor was this one, then, a widow either; but her husband was
no doubt a decent, respectable man, following a decent, respectable
calling. She had little hope of Mr. Wilkins; so little, that she had
refrained from inquiring what he did.

"Has it?" persisted Lotty, as Rose said nothing.

"No," said Rose.

"Oh, well--to-m