Jemima. "One has to consider the future."

To the amaze of both, however, Jacqueline flatly declined to visit Mrs.
Lawrence on any terms whatsoever.

"I'd rather stay here," was her calm response to all her sister's
pleading.

"But, Jacky, we must get to know some girls!"

"Why must we? Silly, giggling, whispering creatures--you go and make the
girl friends, Jemmy! I'd rather have beaux."

"And how are you to find any around here, I'd like to know?"

Jacqueline smiled demurely. "Perhaps they'll come and find me." Jemima
could cheerfully have shaken her. "Anyway, I'd rather stay with mummy,
and baby Kitty, and the colts, and all. You go and do the society act
for both of us, sister," she coaxed. "You do it so beautifully. Think
how you annexed that beautiful young man all those girls were smitten
with! And you know how to be politely rude to people. I don't."

Occasionally her young sister's powers of observation surprised Jemima.

She heaved a sigh. "I suppose I shall have to go alone, then," she said.
"Somebody will always do your share of the world's work, Jacky,"--but
she kissed her sister even as she scolded her.

Kate was more than a little puzzled. With a return of her old
shrewdness, she sought for possible reasons that might be keeping this
joyous, pleasure-loving replica of her young self from the scene of
further triumphs. Was it simply shyness? But Jacqueline had never been
self-conscious enough to be shy. Had something occurred to rouse in her
the fierce Kildare pride? Kate dismissed that fear promptly. Snubs and
slights would fall harmless from such an armor of confidence in the
world's friendly intentions toward her. Jacqueline would not recognize
an insult if she saw it.

Her study of the girl made her aware for the first time of the change
that had taken place in her. She saw, startled, that tender, radiant,
exquisite young woman who had replaced her little daughter.

Instantly her thoughts went to Philip. Could it be Philip who was
keeping her at home?

Kate's heart leaped in her breast. This marriage, planned in
Jacqueline's infancy to clear her name and her children's from at least
one stigma that rested upon it, had never been out of her mind. Now it
was the one thing toward which her hopes, so lately torn from their
rooted hold, were still straining. Jacques' son and her daughter--at
least there should be that tie between herself and the man she loved.
Some day perhaps her grandson wo