r, till she came here,
or even saw anything that pleased her; and the contrast makes her
bitter."

"She is proud, too," said Aunt Merce. "I hear her boasting of what she
would have had if she had stayed at home."

"She is a child, you know," said Verry.

"A year younger than you are."

"Where is the universal boy?"

"Abolished," father answered. "Arthur is growing into that estate."

"Papa, don't forget that I am a veteran officer."

"Here, you rascal, come and get this nice egg."

He slipped down, went to his father, who took him on his knee.

"What shall I do first? the garden, orchard, village, or what?" I
asked.

"Gardens?" said Verry. "Have they been a part of your education?"

"I like flowers."

"Have you seen my plants?" Aunt Merce inquired.

"I will look at them. How different this is from Rosville?"

Then a pang cut me to the soul. The past whirled up, to disappear,
leaving me stunned and helpless. Veronica's eye was upon me. I forced
myself to observe her. The difference between us was plainer than
ever. I was in my twentieth year, she was barely sixteen; handsome,
and as peculiar-looking as when a child. Her straight hair was a vivid
chestnut color. Her large eyes were near together; and, as Ben Somers
said, the most singular eyes that were ever upon earth. They tormented
me. There was nothing willful in them; on the contrary, when she
was willful, she had no power over them; the strange cast was then
perceptible. Neither were they imperious nor magnetic; they were
_baffling_. She pushed her chair from the table, and stood by me
quiet. Tall and slender, she stooped slightly, as if she were not
strong enough to stand upright. Her dress was a buff-colored cambric,
trimmed with knots of ribbon of the same color, dotted with green
crosses. It harmonized with her colorless, fixedly pale complexion.
I counted the bows of ribbon on her dress, and would have counted the
crosses, if she had not interrupted me with, "What do you think of
me?"

"Do you ever blush, Verry?"

"I grow paler, you know, when I blush."

"What do you think of me?"

"As wide-eyed as ever, and your eyebrows as black. Who ever saw light,
ripply hair with such eyebrows? I see wrinkles, too."

"Where?"

"Round your eyes, like an opening umbrella."

We dispersed as our talk ended, in the old fashion. I followed
Aunt Merce to the flower-stand, which stood in its old place on the
landing.

"I have a poor lot of roses," sh