re not sure to meet? of
course you will meet--often."

"Do you think so?" said Elinor. She opened her eyes a little in
surprise, and then shook her head. "I am afraid not, mamma. We are in
two different worlds."

"I assure you," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "John is a very rising man. He is
invited everywhere."

"That I don't doubt at all."

"And why then shouldn't you meet?"

"I don't know. I don't fancy we shall go to the same places. John has a
profession; he has something to do. Now you know we have nothing to do."

She laughed and laid a little emphasis on the _we_, by way of taking off
the weight of the words.

"I always thought it was a great pity, Elinor."

"It may be a pity or not," said Elinor, "but it is, and it cannot be
helped. We have got to make up our minds to it. I would rather Phil did
nothing than mixed himself up with companies. Thank heaven, at present
he is free of anything of that kind."

"I hope he is free of that one at least, that he was going to invest all
your money in, Elinor. I hope you found another investment that was
quite steady and safe."

"Oh, I suppose so," said Elinor, with some of her old petulance: "don't
let us spoil the little time I have by talking about money, mamma!"

And then it was that Mrs. Dennistoun noticed that what Elinor did talk
of, hurrying away from this subject, were things of not the least
importance--the olive woods on the Riviera, the wealth of flowers, the
strange little old towns upon the hills. Surely even the money, which
was her own and for her comfort, would be a more interesting subject
to discuss. Perhaps Elinor herself perceived this, for she began
immediately to ask questions about the Hudsons and Hills, and all the
people of the parish, with much eagerness of questioning, but a flagging
interest in the replies, as her mother soon saw. "And Mary Dale, is she
still there?" she asked. Mrs. Dennistoun entered into a little history
of how Mary Dale had gone away to nurse a distant cousin who had been
ill, and finally had died and left a very comfortable little fortune to
her kind attendant. Elinor listened with little nods and appropriate
exclamations, but before the evening was out asked again, "And Mary
Dale?" then hastily corrected herself with an "Oh, I remember! you told
me." But it was perhaps safer not to question her how much she
remembered of what she had been told.

Thus there were notes of disquiet in even that delightful evening, such