“What do you mean, Pauline?” asked Rose, jarred through and through by her friend’s tone. “Is it possible you don’t guess, you blind girl? But perhaps you would rather I did not speak of it? I thought I could say anything to you, Rosie.” “You spoke of Tom,” Rose answered. “Of course I know what you mean, Pauline.” “Ah, you are jealous, Rosie.” Rose flashed a glance at her. “I am not jealous. I am not so horrid as that. But don’t make a joke of it, Pauline, please don’t.” Pauline burst into a loud laugh. “Oh, Rosie, what a solemn little face! But, seriously, do you think the course of true love is likely to run smooth? Surely your aunt will object. We are not all so unworldly and sentimental as you.” “Aunt Lucy is glad, I am sure of it. And so am I,” said Rose stoutly, “I am beginning to see what Rhoda is.” “You think Miss Merivale will be glad? Well, you are odd people. I shall begin to think Miss Sampson must have a fairy godmother. It’s a new version of Cinderella, isn’t it?” This made Rose too angry to answer, and she walked away to the next flower-bed to put an end to the conversation. Pauline did not attempt to follow her. After standing in deep thought for a moment, she returned to the house. Miss Merivale was sitting in the drawing-room busy with her embroidery. She looked up with a smile as Pauline entered. “I was just wishing you or Rose would come in, Miss Smythe,” she said. “I am not sure whether blue or green would be best for the centre of this flower.” Pauline gravely examined the embroidery, and gave her opinion. Then she took up the basket of silks. “May I sort these for you, Miss Merivale?” “Oh, do, my dear. The kittens got hold of the basket just now and made sad work with it.” Pauline seated herself at a little distance and began quickly and skilfully to arrange the basket, glancing once or twice at her companion. Miss Merivale looked very composed and cheerful. She was intent on her embroidery, and seemed in no hurry to talk. It was Pauline who began the conversation. “I have just been talking to Miss Sampson in the garden, Miss Merivale. How very happy she seems here!” “Yes, I think she is happy, my dear.” “And if you and Rosie had not come to the flat that afternoon, you might never have heard of her. How strangely things come about, don’t they, dear Miss Merivale?” “I am very glad we came,” Miss Merivale answered. “What colour shall I use for this leaf, my dear? My eyes are not what they used to be, and I like to take advice.” Pauline bent forward to look, and patiently discussed the question; but she spoke of Rhoda again directly it was decided. “But something still more strange might have happened, Miss Merivale,” she went on lightly. “Suppose Miss Sampson had been your own niece? She might have been. People who are supposed to be lost in the bush aren’t always lost, and--Oh, Miss Merivale, what have I said?”