until they weary
of their role, and of a sudden become their true selves. And yet there
is nothing absolutely wrong in these swift, natural transitions; many
sympathetic natures act in the same way, by very reason and force of
their sympathy. For the time being they go out of themselves, and, as it
were, put themselves in other people's places. Excessive sympathy is
capable of minor martyrdom; their reflected suffering borders upon real
pain.

When Bessie ushered Edna into her little room, she looked round proudly
at the result of her own painstaking thoughtfulness. A bright fire
burned in the small grate, and her mother's easy chair stood beside
it--heavy as it was, Bessie had carried it in with her own hands. The
best eider-down quilt, in its gay covering, was on the bed, and the new
toilet-cover that Christine had worked in blue and white cross-stitch
was on the table. Bessie had even borrowed the vase of Neapolitan
violets that some patient had sent her father, and the sweet perfume
permeated the little room.

Bessie would willingly have heard some encomium on the snug quarters
provided for the weary guest, but Edna only looked round her
indifferently, and then stifled a yawn.

"Is there anything you want? Can I help you? Oh, I hope you will sleep
comfortably!" observed Bessie, a little mortified by Edna's silence.

"Oh, yes: I am so tired that I am sure I shall sleep well," returned
Edna; and then she added quickly, "but I am so sorry to turn you out of
your room."

"Oh, that does not matter at all, thank you," replied Bessie, stirring
the fire into a cheerful blaze, and then bidding her guest good-night;
but Edna, who had taken possession of the easy chair, exclaimed:

"Oh, don't go yet--it is only eleven, and I am never in bed until
twelve. Sit down a moment, and warm yourself."

"Mother never likes us to be late," hesitated Bessie; but she lingered,
nevertheless. This was not an ordinary evening, and there were
exceptions to every rule, so she knelt down on the rug a moment, and
watched Edna taking down the long plaits of fair hair that had crowned
her shapely head. "What lovely hair!" thought Bessie; "what a beautiful
young creature she is altogether!"

Edna was unconscious of the admiration she was exciting. She was looking
round her, and trying to realize what her feelings would be if she had
to inhabit such a room. "Why, our servants have better rooms," she
thought.

To a girl of Edna's luxurious