ortured himself with a consideration of all
the sweet beauty, and all the sweet nature, he had lost. "And what
for?" he asked, with that quick temper which is one of the first
symptoms of disappointed love. "That Rose may have more dances, and a
little more _eclat_, and that I may play the elegant host at my
mother's teas. Father ought to do the civil thing in his own house. It
is too bad that he does not do so. It is not fair to him. People must
talk about it. As for writing a book! Pshaw! Nobody considers that any
excuse for neglecting social duties--and it is not!"

He shook the reins impatiently to this decision, and then suddenly
became aware of a bit of vivid coloring among the leafless trees. It
was dusk, but not too dark to distinguish Rose's figure, wrapped in
her red cloak, with the bright hood drawn over her head. She was
leaning on Antony Van Hoosen, and Harry walked his horses and watched
the receding figures. Their attitude was lover-like, and they were so
absorbed in each other that they were blind and deaf to his approach.

"Oh--h--h! So that is the way the wind blows! What a shame for Rose to
take a heart like that of Antony Van Hoosen's for a summer plaything!
I know exactly how she is tormenting the poor fellow--telling him that
she loves him, but that this, and that, and the other, prevent the
possibility, etc., etc.,--killing a man while he looks up adoringly,
and thanks her for it. Poor Antony! Such a good, straightforward
fellow! And I know Rose means no more than she means when she pets her
poodle. Well, thank goodness! Yanna did not try to make a fool of me.
She is, at least, above that kind of meanness. She has a heart. And
she is suffering to-night, as much as I am--and I hope she is! She
ought to!--Well, Thomas, how did you get here before me? Been at the
express office?"

"Yes, sir. Nothing there, sir. I met Jerry coming from the mail, and
he gave me a lift."

Then Harry threw down the reins, and went into the house. It looked
very desolate, wanting the precious Lares and ornaments which Mrs.
Filmer took with her wherever she meant to dwell for any time. She was
accustomed to say that "there were certain things in every family
which took on the family character, and which gave the family
distinction to their home." "It is the miniatures and the carved
ivories, and the little odds and ends of old furniture and of our own
handiwork, that give the _Filmer-y look_ to the house," she had said