As they were closing about this, they were joined by Messrs. Barksdale and Branch, Miss Tabb delaying her appearance until the repast was nearly over, and meeting the raillery of the party upon her late rising with the sweet, soft smile her cousin-betrothed admired as the indication of unadulterated amiability. The breakfast-hour, always pleasant, was to-day particularly merry. Rosa led off in the laughing debates, the play of repartee, friendly jest, and anecdote that incited all to mirth and speech and tempted them to linger around the table long after the business of the meal was concluded. “This is the perfection of country life!” said Frederic Chilton, when, at last, there was a movement to end the sitting. “But it spoils one fearfully for the everyday practicalities of the city--a Northern city, especially.” “Better stay where you are, then, instead of deserting our ranks to-morrow,” suggested Rosa, gliding by his side out upon the long portico at the end of the house. “What does your nature crave that Ridgeley cannot supply?” “Work, and a career!” “You still feel the need of these?” significantly. “Otherwise I were no man!” “You are right!” Her disdainful eyes wandered to the farther end of the portico, where Alfred Branch, in his natty suit of white grasscloth, plucked at his ebon whiskers with untanned fingers, and talked society nothings with the ever-complaisant Imogene. “Come what may, you, Mr. Chilton, have occupation for thought and hands; are not tied down to a detestable routine of vapid pleasures and common-place people!” “You are--every independent woman and man--is as free in this respect as myself, Miss Rosa. None need be a slave to conventionality unless he choose.” She made a gesture that was like twisting a chain upon her wrist. “You know you are not sincere in saying that. I wondered, moreover, when you were railing at the practicalities of city life, if you were learning, like the rest of the men, to accommodate your talk to your audience. Where is the use of your trying to disguise the truth that all women are slaves? I used to envy you when I was in Philadelphia, last winter, when you pleaded business engagements as an excuse for declining invitations to dinner-parties and balls. Now, if a woman defies popular decrees by refusing to exhibit herself for the popular entertainment, the horrible whisper is forthwith circulated that she has been 'disappointed,' and is hiding her green wound in her sewing-room or oratory. 'Disappointed,' forsooth! That is what they say of every girl who is not married to somebody by the time she is twenty-five. It matters not whether she cares for him or not. Having but one object in existence, there can be but one species of disappointment. Marry she must, or be PITIED!” with a stinging emphasis on the last word.