likely to have a gay life if she
goes on as she has begun, and that she finds it very delightful so far,"
answered the girl, with lips still smiling from their first taste of
what the world calls pleasure.

Chapter 4 THORNS AMONG THE ROSES

For a time everything went smoothly, and Rose was a happy girl. The
world seemed a beautiful and friendly place, and fulfillment of her
brightest dreams appeared to be a possibility. Of course this could not
last, and disappointment was inevitable, because young eyes look for a
Paradise and weep when they find a workaday world which seems full of
care and trouble till one learns to gladden and glorify it with high
thoughts and holy living.

Those who loved her waited anxiously for the disillusion which must come
in spite of all their cherishing, for till now Rose had been so busy
with her studies, travels, and home duties that she knew very little
of the triumphs, trials, and temptations of fashionable life. Birth and
fortune placed her where she could not well escape some of them, and Dr.
Alec, knowing that experience is the best teacher, wisely left her to
learn this lesson as she must many another, devoutly hoping that it
would not be a hard one.

October and November passed rapidly, and Christmas was at hand, with all
its merry mysteries, home gatherings, and good wishes.

Rose sat in her own little sanctum, opening from the parlor, busily
preparing gifts for the dear five hundred friends who seemed to grow
fonder and fonder as the holidays drew near. The drawers of her commode
stood open, giving glimpses of dainty trifles, which she was tying up
with bright ribbons.

A young girl's face at such moments is apt to be a happy one, but Rose's
was very grave as she worked, and now and then she threw a parcel into
the drawer with a careless toss, as if no love made the gift precious.
So unusual was this expression that it struck Dr. Alec as he came in
and brought an anxious look to his eyes, for any cloud on that other
countenance dropped its shadow over his.

"Can you spare a minute from your pretty work to take a stitch in my old
glove?" he asked, coming up to the table strewn with ribbon, lace, and
colored papers.

"Yes, Uncle, as many as you please."

The face brightened with sudden sunshine; both hands were put out
to receive the shabby driving glove, and the voice was full of that
affectionate alacrity which makes the smallest service sweet.

"My Lady Bountif