of Long Whindale chat. She had no passionate feeling about the
place and the people as Catherine had, but she was easily content, and
she had a good wholesome feminine curiosity as to the courtings and
weddings and buryings of the human beings about her. So she would sit
and chat, working the while with the quickest, neatest of fingers,
till Catherine knew as much about Jenny Tyson's Whinborough lover, and
Farmer Tredall's troubles with his son, and the way in which that odious
woman Molly Redgold bullied her little consumptive husband, as Agnes
knew, which was saying a good deal.

About themselves Agnes was frankness itself.

'Since you went,' she would say with a shrug, 'I keep the coach steady,
perhaps, but Rose drives, and we shall have to go where she takes us. By
the way, Cathie, what have you been doing to her here? She is not a bit
like herself. I don't generally mind being snubbed. It amuses her and
doesn't hurt me; and, of course, I know I am meant to be her foil. But
really, sometimes she is too bad even for me.'

Catherine sighed, but held her peace. Like all strong persons, she kept
things very much to herself. It only made vexation more real to talk
about them. But she and Agnes discussed the winter and Berlin.

'You had better let her go,' said Agnes, significantly; 'she will go
anyhow.'

A few days afterward Catherine, opening the drawing-room door
unexpectedly, came upon Rose sitting idly at the piano, her hands
resting on the keys, and her great gray eyes straining out of her white
face with an expression which sent the sister's heart into her shoes.

'How you steal about, Catherine!' cried the player, getting up and
shutting the piano. 'I declare you are just like Millais's Gray Lady in
that ghostly gown.'

Catherine came swiftly across the floor. She had just left her child,
and the sweet dignity of motherhood was in her step, her look. She came
and threw her arms round the girl.

'Rose dear, I have settled it all with mamma. The money can be managed,
and you shall go to Berlin for the winter when you like.'

She drew herself back a little, still with her arms round Rose's waist,
and looked at her smiling, to see how she took it.

Rose had a strange movement of irritation. She drew herself out of
Catherine's grasp.

'I don't know that I had settled on Berlin,' she said coldly, 'Very
possibly Leipsic would be better.'

Catherine's face fell.

'Whichever you like, dear. I have been thi