“You say so much about my being forgetful that I didn’t suppose you ever did such a thing as to forget,” growled Mr. Nathan. And Eudora added, “And her mind’s always on what she is doing. She has so little patience with mistakes I never thought of her being the one to blame.” “At any rate,” retorted Miss Fifield, “I don’t lose my glasses a dozen times a day. And I don’t put things in the oven to bake and get to mooning and let them burn up. I admit I was in fault about this, and I am as sorry as I can be for the trouble it has made, and most of all for the unjust suspicion it has brought on Rose; but, fortunately, no one but ourselves is aware of this, and I don’t know as it will make matters any better to harp on it forever.” In fact, it needed no words to tell that the Fifields were not only heartily sorry for what had happened, but decidedly ashamed. For every one had been touched in the way to be felt most keenly; Squire Fifield in that he had been proven unjust and mistaken in his opinion, Miss Eudora that she had been hard-hearted, and Miss Fifield that she had failed in memory and laid herself open to blame. This blow at the especial pride of each, made them, while really glad that Rose had been proved innocent, for the moment almost wish that she or some one could at least have been guilty enough to have saved them the present irritation of chagrin and humiliation. Perhaps unconsciously something of this showed itself in Mr. Nathan’s manner as he said: “Yes, Rose, we deeply regret that we have wrongfully accused you—though I must still say that under the circumstances we seemed justified in doing so, and I hope you will accept this as a compensation for the trouble it has made you,” and he dropped a couple of gold eagles in her lap. Rose’s cheeks crimsoned. “I don’t want any such money,” she cried hotly, flinging the gold coins to the floor. “Because I was poor and hadn’t any home or friends you thought I must be a liar and a thief. If you had said as though you’d meant it that you were sorry for the way you had treated me it would have been all I asked. I don’t ask to be paid for being honest. It’s an insult for you to offer to, and I’d beg before I’d touch it, I would!” “Rose, Rose!” reproved Mrs. Blossom, who had been unable to check the indignant torrent. “I trust you will overlook the way Rose has spoken,” she hastened to say. “This last week has been a great strain on her, and her nerves are in a condition that she is hardly responsible.” As she spoke she gave a warning glance at Silence, from the expression of whose face she knew that she approved of Rose’s action, and was fearful would endorse it in words; at the same time Mrs. Patience looked at Rose in amazement that she should dare thus to provoke Nathan Fifield’s well-known irascible temper, and all present waited for the explosion they expected would follow.