ut I've paid the price! In a
life like mine there's no room for the normal, wonderful ties of a home
and children. Never--" she put her head back against her chair and shut
her eyes--"never that happiness for me!" She finished, her voice
lowered and carefully controlled.

They were both silent awhile. Then Marian stirred her helpless fingers
just enough to deepen their light pressure on Julie's own.

"Thank you," she said shyly. "I see now. I think I begin to understand."

ROSEMARY'S STEPMOTHER

In the sunny morning-room there prevailed an atmosphere of business.
Rosemary, at the desk, was rapidly writing notes and addressing
envelopes. Theodore, a deep wrinkle crossing his forehead, was
struggling to reduce to order a confused heap of crumpled and illegible
papers. Before him lay little heaps of silver and small gold, which he
moved and counted untiringly, referring now and then to various entries
in a large, flat ledger. Mrs. Bancroft, stepmother of these two, was in
a deep chair, with her lap full of letters. Now and then she quoted
aloud from these as she opened and glanced over them. Lastly, Ann
Weatherbee, a neighbor, seated on the floor with her back against Mrs.
Bancroft's knee, was sorting a large hamperful of silver spoons and
crumpled napkins into various heaps.

"There!" said Ann, presently. "I've finished the napkins--or nearly!
Tell me, whose are these, Aunt Nell?"

Mrs. Bancroft reached a smooth hand for them and mused over the
monograms.

"B--B--B--?" she reflected. "Both are B's, aren't they? And different,
too. This is Mrs. Bayne's, anyway--I was with her when she bought
these. But these--? Oh, I know now, Ann! That little cousin of the
Potters',--what was her name, Rosemary?"

"Sutter, madam! Guess again."

"No; but her unmarried name, I mean?"

"Oh, Beatty, of course!" supplied Ann. "Aren't you clever to remember
that! I'll tie them up. Oh, and should there only be eleven of the
Whiteley Greek-borders?" she asked presently.

"One was sent home with a cake, dear,--we had too much cake."

"We always do, somehow," commented Rosemary, absently, and there was a
silence. The last speaker broke it presently, with a long sigh.

"At your next concert, mamma, I shall insist upon having 'please omit
flowers' on the tickets," said Rosemary, severely. "I think I have
thanked forty people for 'your exquisite roses'!"

"Poor, overworked little Rosemary!" laughed her stepmother.

"You can