tell him?" asked Janetta, after a pause.

"No. I did not think it worth while. I am not anxious to cultivate his
acquaintance."

"After all, what does it matter?" said the girl coaxingly, for she
thought she saw a shadow of disappointment upon his face.

"No, what does it matter?" said her father, brightening up at once. "As
long as we are happy with each other, these outside people need not
disturb us, need they?"

"Not a bit," said Janetta. "And--you are not angry with me, are you,
father, dear?"

"Why should I be, my Janet? You have done nothing wrong that I know of.
If there is any blame it attaches to Miss Adair, not to you."

"But I do not want you to think so, father. Miss Adair is the greatest
friend that I have in all the world."

And she found a good many opportunities of repeating; this conviction of
hers during the next few days, for Mrs. Colwyn and Nora were not slow to
repeat the sentiment with which they had greeted her--that the Adairs
were "stuck-up" fine people, and that they did not mean to take any
further notice of her now that they had got what they desired.

Janetta stood up gallantly for her friend, but she did feel it a little
hard that Margaret had not written or come to see her since her return
home. She conjectured--and in the conjecture she was nearly right--that
Lady Caroline had sacrificed her a little in order to smooth over things
with her daughter: that she had represented Janetta as resolved upon
going, resolved upon neglecting Margaret and not complying with her
requests; and that Margaret was a little offended with her in
consequence. She wrote an affectionate note of excuse to her friend, but
Margaret made no reply.

In the first ardor of a youthful friendship, Janetta's heart ached over
this silence, and she meditated much as she lay nights upon her little
white bed in Nora's attic (for she had not time to meditate during the
day) upon the smoothness of life which seemed necessary to the Adairs
and the means they took for securing it. On the whole, their life seemed
to her too artificial, too much like the life of delicate hot-house
flowers under glass; and she came to the conclusion that she preferred
her own mode of existence--troublous and hurried and common as it might
seem in the eyes of the world to be. After all, was it not pleasant to
know that while she was at home, there was a little more comfort than
usual for her over-worked, hardly-driven, careworn father; s