and put
it on the highest shelf of the bookcase, rolling it back behind the
books, out of sight.

"Why do you do that, Mother?" asked Alden, curiously. "Because,"
returned Madame, grimly, "it's all nonsense. I won't have it around any
more."

Alden laughed, but Edith went on, thoughtfully: "I'd like to do her hair
for her, and see that all her under-things were right, and then put her
into a crepe gown of dull blue--a sort of Chinese blue, with a great
deal of deep-toned lace for trimming, and give her a topaz pendant set
in dull silver, and a big picture hat of ecru net, with a good deal of
the lace on it, and one long plume, a little lighter than the gown."

"I would, too," said Alden, smiling at Edith. He did not in the least
know what she was talking about, but he knew that she felt kindly toward
Rosemary, and was grateful for it.

Rosemary, at home, went about her duties mechanically. There was a
far-away look in her eyes which did not escape the notice of Grandmother
and Aunt Matilda, but they forebore to comment upon it as long as she
performed her tasks acceptably. At supper she ate very little, and that
little was as dust and ashes in her mouth.

[Sidenote: Heartburns]

Before her, continually, was a heart-breaking contrast. She, awkward,
ugly, ill at ease in brown alpaca made according to the fashion of ten
or fifteen years ago, and Mrs. Lee, beautiful, exquisite, dainty to her
finger-tips, richly dowered with every conceivable thing that she
herself lacked.

"Mother," said Rosemary, to herself. "Oh, Mother!" She did not mean Mrs.
Marsh, but the pretty, girlish mother who had died in giving birth to
her. She would have been like Mrs. Lee, or prettier, and she would have
understood.

Her heart smarted and burned and ached, but she got through the evening
somehow, and, at the appointed time, stumbled up to her own room.

Why should she care because another woman was prettier than she, knew
more, and had more? Were there not many such in the world, and had she
not Alden? Accidentally, Rosemary came upon the cause of her pain.

Of course she had Alden, for always--unless--then, once more,
reassurance came. "She's married," said Rosemary, smiling back at the
white, frightened face she saw in the mirror. "She's married!"

[Sidenote: The Comforting Thought]

The thought carried with it so much comfort that presently Rosemary
slept peacefully, exhausted, as she was, by the stress of the afternoon.
"She