'You are in one of your misanthropical moods.' 'Men are not always feeling their own pulse and detailing their moral symptoms, depend upon it; it is quite a feminine weakness, Miss Lambert. I think I know one woman tolerably free from the disease, at least outwardly;' and as Mildred blushed under the keen, yet kindly look, Dr. Heriot somewhat abruptly changed the subject. CHAPTER XII THE WELL-MEANING MISCHIEF-MAKER 'And in that shadow I have pass'd along, Feeling myself grow weak as it grew strong; Walking in doubt and searching for the way, And often at a stand--as now to-day. * * * * * Perplexities do throng upon my sight Like scudding fogbanks, to obscure the light; Some new dilemma rises every day, And I can only shut my eyes and pray.'--Anon. Mildred had been secretly reproaching herself for allowing Dr. Heriot's pleasing conversation so completely to monopolise her, and even her healthy conscience felt a pang something like remorse when, half an hour later, they came upon Olive sitting alone on a tree-trunk, having evidently stolen apart from her companions to indulge unobserved in one of her usual reveries. She was too much absorbed to notice them till addressed by name, and then, to Mildred's surprise, she started, coloured from chin to brow, and, muttering some excuse, seemed only anxious to effect her escape. 'I hope you are not composing an Ode to Melancholy,' observed Dr. Heriot, with one of his quizzical looks. 'You look like a forsaken wood-nymph, or a disconsolate Chloe, or Jacques' sobbing deer, or any other uncomfortable image of loneliness. What an unsociable creature you are, Olive.' 'Why are you not with Chrissy and the Chestertons? I hope we have not all neglected you,' interposed Mildred in her soft voice, for she saw that Olive shrank from Dr. Heriot's good-humoured raillery. 'Are you tired, dear? Roy has not ordered the carriage for another hour, I am afraid.' 'No, I am not tired; I was only thinking. I will find Chriss,' returned Olive, stammering and blushing still more under her aunt's affectionate scrutiny. 'Don't come with me, please, Aunt Milly. I like being alone.' And before Mildred could answer, she had disappeared down a little side-walk, and was now lost to sight. Dr. Heriot laughed at Mildred's discomposed look. 'You remind me of the hen when she hatched the duckling and found it taking kindly to the unknown element. You must get used to Olive's odd ways; she is decidedly original. I should not wonder if we disturbed her in the first volume of some wonderful scheme-book, where all the heroines are martyrs and the hero is a full-length portrait of Richard. I warn you all her _dénouements_ will be disastrous. Olive does not believe in happiness for herself or other people.'