nd giggles, and
joyous or protesting confidences afterward.

And now Primrose thought, as she had years before, that she was quite
torn in two. Did she love Andrew Henry with an absorbing love, such as
Polly had for her brother? Another face and another voice haunted her.
She dreamed of Allin Wharton. This night they were sailing up the lovely
Schuylkill and pausing under the overhanging trees to hear the birds
who were saying, "Sweet, sweet, I love you," and then Allin would look
up at her.

Then they were at the farm. Betty and the babies were gone now, and she
missed them sorely. But Allin came out with Phil, and Phil walked off
with Polly. Would they never get talked out? Then Allin would draw her
out in some fragrant nook and look at her with upbraiding eyes. Or, it
was vivacious Peggy who would drag her in to tea, and then some girl
would come and she and Allin be left alone again.

Then, by day and in real life, she was cross and tormenting to him.
Desperately sorry afterward, for now she had no ambition to be
bad-tempered. Everything had come out to her satisfaction. Phil was the
dearest of brothers, and prospering, and Madam Wetherill was elated with
her successful firm. The prestige of the elder Henry dropped its mantle
over them. And as for Polly, there could not be a wiser, sweeter wife.
Then Aunt Lois was so tranquilly happy, and Faith growing brighter, yes,
prettier, and buying grays with a peachy or lavender tint instead of
that snuffy yellow, or dismally cold stone color, and coaxing Andrew,
sometimes, to go to Christ Church to hear the singing or the tender
prayers where the people could all say "Amen."

Oh, what was the matter that she was not happy and satisfied!

Allin was studying hard and well, and growing more manly every day. And
at last he made up his mind there should be no more shilly-shallying.
For when Primrose was tender and sweet he knew she loved him. She
was--yes, a little bit jealous when he wandered too far in a half
angry, half desperate moment.

So one evening he came upon her all alone. Miss Jeffries had begged
madam so to come in to a little card party, for now her father was quite
lame and could not get out much, and rather deaf, and altogether
disheartened about England conquering America. Therefore it was a
charity to visit him.

"And lose _my_ money now," she said with a good-natured laugh.

Now Primrose could not shelter herself behind Polly nor Phil. She was
sweet a