ame Lois begged off. She did not feel like going, she said; it
would be far pleasanter to her if she could stay at home quietly; it
would be better for her. Mrs. Wishart demurred; the invitation had been
very urgent; Mrs. Burrage would be disappointed; and, besides, she was
a little proud herself of her handsome young relations, and wanted the
glory of producing them together. However, Lois was earnest in her wish
to be left at home; quietly earnest, which is the more difficult to
deal with; and, knowing her passionate love for music, Mrs. Wishart
decided that it must be her lingering weakness and languor which
indisposed her for going. Lois was indeed looking well again; but both
her friends had noticed that she was not come back to her old lively
energy, whether of speaking or doing. Strength comes back so slowly,
they said, after one of those fevers. Yet Madge was not satisfied with
this reasoning, and pondered, as she and Mrs. Wishart drove away, what
else might be the cause of Lois's refusal to go with them.

Meanwhile Lois, having seen them off and heard the house door close
upon them, drew up her chair before the fire and sat down. She was in
the back drawing-room, the windows of which looked out to the river and
the opposite shore; but the shutters were closed and the curtains
drawn, and only the interior view to be had now. So, or any way, Lois
loved the place. It was large, roomy, old-fashioned, with none of the
stiffness of new things about it; elegant, with the many tokens of home
life, and of a long habit of culture and comfort. In a big chimney a
big wood fire was burning quietly; the room was softly warm; a
brilliant lamp behind Lois banished even imaginary gloom, and a faint
red shine came from the burning hickory logs. Only this last
illumination fell on Lois's face, and in it Lois's face showed grave
and troubled. She was more like a sybil at this moment, looking into
confused earthly things, than like one of Fra Angelico's angels
rejoicing in the clear light of heaven.

Lois pulled her chair nearer to the fire, and bent down, leaning
towards it; not for warmth, for she was not in the least cold; but for
company, or for counsel. Who has not taken counsel of a fire? And Lois
was in perplexity of some sort, and trying to think hard and to examine
into herself. She half wished she had gone to the party at Mrs.
Burrage's. And why had she not gone? She did not want, she did not
think it was best, to meet M