The one restless and dissatisfied person was always Grace. The monotony of the days became to her absolutely terrible. She had all the discomfort of having put herself upon a pinnacle without any admiring crowd to make up for the isolation. It was difficult for her to come down. Advances of friendliness and proffered affection had been made in vain by Mrs. Dorriman and now no effort was made. Perhaps the hardest trial of all was the perceptible loss of her sister's blind admiration for all she said. To Margaret, Grace was still beautiful, graceful, and full of talents, which only needed recognition to dazzle the world; but she began to think it just possible that Grace did not quite understand things affecting herself and Mrs. Dorriman; and instead of accepting her conclusions, as she had done all her life, without question, she began now to endeavour to argue with her, and though Grace bore her down by a flow of language and silenced her she remained unconvinced and Grace herself knew it. This change, this falling-off in her allegiance, was laid to the charge of Mrs. Dorriman, and when occasions arose that poor lady was told much, which wounded her sorely, about setting the sisters against each other. There were times when Grace paced her room in a perfect frenzy of impatience. Her life was slipping away, she thought, and there was no break, nothing in sight. What was the use of being what she was--fitted to reign--when there was no kingdom? Were her gifts--for she believed in her gifts--all to be useless to her? They had been four months together now; she had seen the snowfall turn black and smutty and lose its beauty under the influence of smoke. Some half-dozen people had called, but they came to see Mrs. Dorriman. In a thousand little minute things she found herself of no account. This was not her natural sphere, and she longed for something in which her merits would be recognised. A good deal of her dissatisfaction was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dorriman, but she had so kindly a heart that she longed to give the girl some interest in life. It was sad to see her day by day more dull, more apathetic, and more discontented. "Will you not come and look into the housekeeping with me, Grace?" she said, one morning when she saw her, without even the pretence of a book in her hand, throw herself down on a lounging-chair, looking as usual bored and dull. "What good would it do?" asked Grace, surprised by the invitation. "I think a notion of housekeeping is a very useful thing. You may have a house of your own some day." "When that day comes I may learn it. There is not much to learn, I suppose--any intelligent person can order a dinner." Mrs. Dorriman said no more.