"Margaret and Monica saw you sitting on Guy's knee. In any case I would rather you never did that. In any case ... yes ... but in a place where people passing might have seen ... yes, would have seen ... oh, it was inexcusable.... I shall have to make much stricter rules...." "Are you going to speak to Guy about this?" Pauline asked. The house seemed to be whirling away like a leaf, such a shattering of her love were these words of her mother. "How can I speak to Guy about it?" Mrs. Grey demanded irritably. "How can I, Pauline? It has nearly choked me to speak to you." "I think Monica and Margaret are almost wicked," Pauline cried in flames. "They are trying to destroy everything. They are, they are. No, Mother, you shan't defend them. I knew they felt guilty when they went out of the room like that. How dare they put horrible thoughts in your mind? How dare they? They're cruel to me. And you're cruel to me. I don't understand what's happening to everybody. You'll make me hate you all, if you speak like that." She rushed from the nursery and went first to the music-room where Margaret was sounding deep notes, hanging over her violoncello, and where Monica was playing one of those contained, somewhat frigid accompaniments. "Margaret and Monica," said Pauline standing in the doorway. "You're never to dare to speak about me to Mother as you must have spoken this afternoon. Because neither of you have any emotion but conceit and selfishness, you shall not be jealous of Guy and me. Margaret, you can have no heart. I shall write to Richard and tell him you're heartless. Don't smile down at your violoncello. You shall not rule me into being like yourself. Oh, I'll never play music with either of you again." Then she left them and in her white room for an hour she listened hopelessly to the trolling wind. _November_