sdom. She liked play. She liked real
music. She liked dancing. But as she was quite good, she did what she
was told. Many tutors came about her, and she worked early and late. Her
mother confided to her those secrets which should add to her beauty.

The elocution master was quite pleased with her. She learned to
ar-tic-u-late her words and to speak dis-tinct-ly. She pronounced every
"r" as if it had been a coffee-mill. It was a treat to listen to her.

Her proficiency in foreign languages was really remarkable.

Her music teacher said that she had improved enormously in technique and
in taste. Her playing on the violin was a mixture of gymnastics and
conjuring tricks. She learned to speak slightingly of melody. She
understood advanced orchestration, and pronounced Tschaikowsky
correctly. She occasionally annoyed people by giving Chopin the Russian
pronunciation.

Her waist became smaller. You might have thought that her long hours of
study would have made her pale, but there was always a delicate blush on
either cheek-bone, except when she had just washed her face. Her hair
became a work of art. It was marvellously arranged.

The college of domestic-training found Rose its most apt pupil. She
could cook. She could housekeep. Her arithmetic was unfailing. She could
detect at once the mistake in the tradesman's account, and she could get
the right note of asperity into her voice in speaking to him about it.
"Is it not rather an extraordinary coincidence that these frequent
errors are always in your own favour?" This was obviously the kind of
woman that a sensible man would be glad to marry. She was a highly
developed helpmeet.

The ambitious mamma saw that Rose had improved out of all knowledge. She
became proud of her. She now waited for Rose to make an exceptionally
brilliant match. She continued to wait, for something had changed in
Rose. People said she was very accomplished and very beautiful, but
nobody said she was rather sweet. The boys who had played with her and
danced with her did not seem to require her any more; they shivered with
fear in her splendid presence.

We should all improve ourselves, and try to do our best--this is the
accepted view and there is no need to dispute it--but concentration on
one's own self, even with the highest possible motive, is poison. And
Rose had drunk of that poison.

And then the ambitious mamma died; and there were some people who
thought that she was better dead. Bu