"I have thought. Yes! I know I must leave Coverley, but that is as far as I can get. I must wait until I have calmed down and can think it out quietly. But I should like to be near you, Jean. You are the person I care for most on earth, and failing a personal romance I must take you for my lifelong love. You won't want me always. When you are happy you will be independent of my services; but you can't always be happy. There must come times when you are ill, or anxious, or miserable, when I shall have my chance. You will need a woman then. When the babies are teething; when the boiler bursts on Christmas Eve, and the cook leaves at an hour's notice; when you want to make jam, or re-cover the furniture, or to leave everything behind, and go off honeymooning with your husband, `send for Vanna' must be a household word. I shall be your `Affliction Female,' always ready to be called in in an emergency. Fancy _me_ an `Affliction Female.'" "A Consolation Female!" corrected Jean softly, and Vanna looked at her with a lightening eye. "That's better. Thank you, Jean. Well, that will be one object in life--to help you, when you need help. You will marry, of course. It is impossible to think that any man could refuse to love you if you wished it, and the time will come when you _will_ wish. It will be a tremendous interest to know your home, and your husband, and children. Dr Greatman told me that I was to compare my life as a spinster with the life of married women... I'll compare it with yours. There will be moments when I shall be gnawed with envy, but perhaps, who knows? there may be times when you may envy me in return. At any rate, you'll be sweet to me, dear--I know that; and you must let me help you to entertain the dull bores, and keep the charming eligibles out of my way. I don't want to be driven away by a second Edward Verney. It's a mercy I am only `interesting,' and not a beauty, like you." "Yes, it is," sighed Jean, in unthinking agreement. Vanna's lips twitched, her eyes flashed a humorous glance at her own reflection in the glass at the opposite end of the room. CHAPTER THREE. THE ROSE WAITS. The evening after her interview with the doctor, Vanna Strangeways accompanied her friend to a ball, and had her first experience of society under the altered mental conditions of her life. Her first impulse had been to excuse herself and stay at home, but she was an unusually reasoning creature for her twenty-three years, and a short mental cross-examination was sufficient to reject the idea, "Can I go to her and say, `Jean, I am sorry; it is impossible that I can marry any of the men at the ball, so I would rather not go'? What nonsense, what folly, what degradation!" She put on her prettiest frock, spent an extra ten minutes over her hair; and even beside the radiant beauty of Jean in her pale pink tarlatan, attracted notice as one of the most interesting and distinguished of the dancers.