exclamation-point, and a 'So true!'" Rose leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "Are you very tired, dear?" inquired her friend, with real tenderness. "Very tired," was the languid reply, that was not without a satirical intonation. "It seems as though my rest was a good deal broken." "Broken bone! broken heart! broken rest! dear me! Well, I suppose they follow each other in natural sequence." "Helene," said her mother, "you are chattering like a magpie. What is it all about?" "Broken utterances, mamma. Not worth piecing together and repeating." Madame DeBerczy, seated alone at the other end of the apartment, turned upon her daughter a face of such majestic severity as effectually to quell that young lady's recklessly merry mood. But it was not for long. The irrepressible joyousness of her nature was not permanently subdued until two weeks later, when the family were surprised by the unlooked-for appearance of Edward Macleod. This young man was the bearer of good-tidings. His father and the rest of the family were even now domiciled at an hotel in York waiting for Rose to arrive in order to consult her preferences before selecting a house. The announcement made both girls happy, but when it was discovered that Edward was to take his sister away in a few hours their joy was changed to lamentation. To be separated, hateful thought! How could it be endured? They withdrew for a brief space to consider this weighty problem, leaving Edward in dignified conversation with Madame DeBerczy. He was strangely reminded of his first visit to her after his return from England. Alike, and yet how different. Then the prophecy of summer's golden perfection was in the air. But his hopes with it had too-quickly ripened and died. The coolness that had sprang up between Helene and himself had grown and strengthened into the permanent winter of discontent. He was recalled from the chilling reflections into which this thought had plunged him by the concluding words of a remark by Madame DeBerczy: "I approve of a certain amount of life and animation," she said, "but they are inclined to be too frisky." "What on earth is she talking about?" queried Edward inaudibly. He could form no idea, but he was suddenly extricated from his dilemma by observing the antics of two pet kittens on the hearth-rug. "Altogether too frisky," he acquiesced, "but charming little pets." "It appears to me," said the lady, with a good deal of frigidity in her manner, "that they should be something better than that."