"What in the world has come over you?" asked Nathalie bluntly. "I never knew anyone's disposition to become as uncertain and irritable as yours has lately." "Why don't you let me alone, then? My temper may be growing bad, but yours has never been anything else." Nathalie shrugged her shoulders, and laughing shortly, went on her way without another word. When the door had closed on her, Jean slipped down on the floor and, burying her face in Aunt Helen's lap, sobbed convulsively. "I don't know what is the matter with me," she faltered. "I am so cross and irritable lately. Everything seems to set my nerves on edge. I never used to feel so." Aunt Helen passed her thin hand soothingly over the girl's bent head. "Don't worry about it, dearie. Of course you did not mean to speak so. You are tired and unstrung to-day." By and by Jean's sobs grew less frequent, then ceased altogether. She lifted her head, and, resting her arm on Aunt Helen's knee, dropped her chin in her hand, and stared absently before her. All trace of emotion had left her face, and it now wore an expression of utter weariness and dejection. Her aunt looked thoughtfully down at her. Had it been either Helen or Nathalie who had thus given way it would not have troubled her, but proud little Jean was too reserved and self-contained to break down unless she had been very sorely tried. The silence had lasted some few moments when Aunt Helen again spoke. "In spite of your denial, Jean, I fear that your playtime has lasted too long. Discontent never fails to creep in among us when we are idle. You see, dear, I am taking it for granted that it is nothing deeper than a feeling of discontent which makes you so unhappy. I know of nothing else unless----" She paused. Jean stirred uneasily under her direct glance. Aunt Helen instantly averted her eyes, and resumed: "I am sorry that my ill health forces me to lead my life so apart from you all. I am in ignorance of the many currents and eddies which would otherwise be apparent to me, but if ever you need my advice you know how gladly I will give it to you, and there are times when an old head is better than a young one." Still Jean did not speak. Aunt Helen sighed a little sadly: "Well, my child, I suppose I am mistaken, and that your trouble is only a surfeit of pleasure." "I am a great baby, Auntie, but I am glad I came here to you to have my cry out. You always help me so, and make me ashamed of being so impatient," and Jean looked lovingly up into the worn face which was bent above her. "Thank you, dearie. You must come to me whenever you feel discouraged and unhappy, and remember I always stand ready to give you whatever comfort or counsel lies within my power. But, Jean," and her voice was very grave, "I have learned from my own experience, both of petty annoyance and of great trials, that there is only one true source of strength." * * * * *