throw herself into her father's schemes for his club, writing a
little now and then, occupying herself feverishly with all the projects
that came in her way, but bearing a sad heart about with her all the
time. She was not outwardly depressed--her pride would not let her seem
melancholy. She held her head high, and talked and laughed more than
usual. But the want of color and brightness in her face and eye could
not be controlled.

"You pale-faced wretch," she said to herself one Saturday evening, as
she stood before her glass and surveyed the fair image that met her eye;
"why cannot you look as usual? It must be this black dress that makes me
so colorless: I wish that I had a flower to wear with it."

Mr. Brooke and his sister were holding one of their frequent Saturday
evening parties, when they were "at home" to a large number of guests.
Lesley was just about to go downstairs. Her dress was black, for she was
in mourning for her grandfather; and it must be confessed that the
sombre hue made her look very pale indeed. The wish for a flower was
gratified, however, almost as soon as formed. Kingston entered her room
at that moment carrying a bouquet of flowers, chiefly white, but with a
scarlet blossom here and there, which would give exactly the touch of
color that Lesley's appearance required.

"These flowers have just come for you, ma'am," Kingston said quietly.

Her subdued voice, her pale face, and heavily shadowed eyes, did not
make her a cheerful-looking messenger; but Lesley, for the time being,
thought of nothing but the flowers.

"Where do they come from, Kingston?" she asked, eagerly.

"I was only to say one word, ma'am--that they came from over the way."

There was no want of color now in Lesley's face. Her cheeks were
rose-tinted, her eyes had grown strangely bright. "Over the way." Of
course that meant Maurice. Did not he live over the way?--and was there
any one else at the Kenyons' house who would send her such lovely
flowers?

If he sent her flowers, she reflected, he could not have yet ceased to
care for her, although she had behaved so badly to him--in his eyes, at
least. The thought gave her courage and content. Perhaps he was coming
that night--he had a standing invitation to all the Brookes' evening
parties--and when he came he would perhaps "say something" to her,
something which she could answer suitably, so as to make him
understand.

She did not know how pretty she looked as she stood