great."

"Nor need one be good to be great," returned Anita sarcastically.
"Alfred de Musset was a peculiar type of a peculiar time. He did not
imagine: he felt, he lived, he was himself, and was original, like a
new variety of flower or a new species of insect. Tennyson has gleaned
from everybody's fields: our Alfred gathered only from his own. The
one is made, the other is born."

"Come away," said Afra impatiently: "no one can speak while Anita
is on her hobby. Besides, I must get home early to trim a bonnet for
to-morrow;" and without more leavetaking than a "Good-evening," which
included every one, we found ourselves in the street.

"Who is Anita?" I asked.

"She is nobody just now: what she will be remains to be seen. Her
family wish her to be an artist: she wishes to adopt the stage as a
profession, and is studying for it _sub rosa_. Did you ever see a more
tragic face?"

"Poor thing!" I involuntarily exclaimed.

"Don't pity her," said Afra, more seriously than she had yet spoken.
"The best gift that can be bestowed upon a mortal is a strong natural
inclination for any particular life and the opportunity of following
it. The man or woman who has that can use the wheel of Fate for a
spinning-wheel."

The next morning at the appointed time I met Afra at the station.
"How do I look?" she asked, standing up for my inspection as soon as I
appeared in sight, at the same time regarding as much of her dress as
it was possible for her to see. But before I could reply the satisfied
expression of her face changed: an unpleasant discovery had been
made. "I have shoes on that are not mates," she exclaimed--"cloth and
leather: that looks rather queer, doesn't it? Do you think it will be
noticed? I could not decide which pair to wear, and put on one of each
to see the effect: afterward I forgot them. Now, I suppose that would
be thought eccentric, though any one might make the same mistake. It
shows I have two pairs of shoes," she added more cheerfully, "and they
are both black. How is my bonnet?"

The bonnet was black velvet, and we were in midsummer. The material,
however, was skillfully draped with a veil, and a profusion of pink
flowers gave it a seasonable air. A crimson bow was also tied at
her neck; she complacently remarked that "pink and crimson harmonize
beautifully;" and others of the party arriving at that moment, I was
saved the trouble of making a polite answer.

The ride through ripening grain-fields