f a broken heart?"

Addie was horrified: "I don't want to kill anybody, and I'm not going to
die for Mr. Horace Thorne. Please don't say such things, Lottie: people
never do. You forget he is only an acquaintance."

"No; I don't think you are in love with him, certainly." Lottie pronounced
this decision with the air of one who has solved a difficult problem.

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Blake inquired, coming back, and
glancing from Addie's flushed and troubled face to Lottie's thoughtful
eyes.

"I was asking Addie if she didn't want Horace to be the heir. I know you
do, mamma--oh, just for his own sake, because you think he's the nicest,
don't you? I heard you tell him one day "--here Lottie looked up with a
candid gaze and audaciously imitated Mrs. Blake's manner--"that though we
knew his cousin _first_, he--Horace, you know--seemed to drop _so_
naturally into _all_ our ways that it was quite _delightful_ to feel that
we needn't stand on _any_ ceremony with him."

"Good gracious, Lottie! what do you mean by listening to every word I say?"

"I didn't listen--I heard," said Lottie. "I always do hear when you say
your words as if they had little dashes under them."

"Well, Horace Thorne _is_ easier to get on with than his cousin," said Mrs.
Blake, taking no notice of Lottie's mimicry.

"There, I said so: mamma would like it to be Horace. Nobody asks what I
should like--nobody thinks about me and Percival."

"Oh, indeed! I wasn't aware," said Mrs. Blake. "When is that to come off? I
dare say you will look very well in orange-blossoms and a pinafore!"

"Oh, you think I'm too young, do you? But a little while ago you were
always saying that I was grown up, and oughtn't to want any more childish
games. What was I to do?"

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake. "I'll buy you a doll for a birthday
present, to keep you out of mischief."

"Too late," said Lottie from the rug. She burst into sudden laughter, loud
but not unmelodious. "What rubbish we are talking! Seventeen to-morrow, and
Addie is nearly twenty; and sometimes I think I must be a hundred!"

"Well, you are talking nonsense now," Mrs. Blake exclaimed. "Why, you baby!
only last November you would go into that wet meadow by the rectory to play
trap-and-ball with Robin and Jack. And such a fuss as there was if one
wanted to make you the least tidy and respectable!"

"Was that last November?" Lottie stared thoughtfully into space. "Queer
that last No