what mournfully with her earnest eyes. Certainly he too seemed
preoccupied, and when he was beguiled into the Colwyns' little
drawing-room he would sit almost silent in Janetta's company, never once
asking her counsel or opinion as he had done in earlier days. It was
possible that in her presence he felt a sort of compunction, a sort of
conscience-stricken shame. And his silence and apparent estrangement lay
upon Janetta's heart like lead.

Poor Janetta was going through a time of depression and disappointment.
Mrs. Colwyn had had two or three terrible relapses, and her condition
could no longer be kept quite a secret from her friends. Janetta had
been obliged to call in the aid of the doctor who had been her father's
best friend, and he recommended various changes of diet and habits which
gave the girl far more trouble than he knew. Where poverty is present in
a home, it is sometimes hard to do the best either for the sinning or
the suffering; and so Mrs. Colwyn's weakness was one of the heaviest
burdens that Janetta had to bear. The only gleams of brightness in her
lot lay in the love and gentleness of the children that she taught, and
in her satisfaction with Nora's engagement to Cuthbert. In almost all
other respects she began to feel aware that she was heavily handicapped.

It was nearly the end of June before she received the long-expected
invitation from Lady Ashley. But it was not to an evening party. It was
a sort of combination entertainment--a garden-party for the young, and
music for those elder persons who did not care to watch games at tennis
all the afternoon. And Janetta was asked to sing.

The day of the party was cloudlessly fine, but not too warm, as a
pleasant little summer breeze was blowing. Janetta donned a thin black
dress of some gauzy material, and thought that she looked very careworn
and dowdy in her little bedroom looking-glass. But when she reached Lady
Ashley's house, excitement had brought a vivid color to her face; and
when her hostess, after an appreciative glance at her dress, quietly
pinned a cluster of scarlet geranium blooms at her neck, the little
songstress presented an undeniably distinguished appearance. If she was
not exactly pretty, she was more than pretty--she was striking and
original.

Margaret Adair looked up and smiled at her from a corner, when Janetta
first came forward to sing. She was one of the very few girls who were
present, for most of the young people were in