Nothing further was heard for over an hour, then there came chattering voices, the slam of the gate, much laughter, and much spattering and crunching of gravel, that announced a race up the walk, between the festive twins, for though Kat's disabled arm swung gracefully in a sling, she had, after the first day or two, returned to all her romping with undiminished ardor, thereby keeping the family in constant terror, lest the necessary appendage be forever disabled. Jean had reported to Bea, the fact that Olive had locked her door and was crying, and with her conscience reproving her, Bea ran hastily up stairs, and knocked at the door. "Olive, may I come in?" "What for?" "Well, just to talk a little," Bea replied, knowing better than to give Jean's report. Olive unlocked the door, after having first surveyed her face to see that no tears were visible. "Come in, if you want to; I'm drawing," and Bea accepted the ungracious invitation, thinking to herself, as Olive straightway took her seat and pencil, and returned to work-- "Now Olive's in one of her moods, I wonder if I can say anything," for though not yet seventeen, Bea was womanly and thoughtful, and Mrs. Dering had sometimes talked with her, about the unfortunate peculiarities of this sister's disposition, and asked her help in being patient, and trying to overcome it. "We had a delightful time," began Bea, anxious to work aright. "'Prince' was such a dear old fellow and Mr. Phillips so kind. I'm so sorry you didn't go, Olive." Nothing but pride kept Olive's face from brightening a little at this; she turned away, made a fierce dab at her subject's nose, and thought grimly:--"It's all very well to be sorry now, when the thing's all over; I wonder if she thinks that I believe she's sorry, anyhow." "We went around by the river, and way up on the hill," continued Bea, after waiting a reasonable length of time for an answer. "Mr. Phillips says we may ride often." "Did he?" "Yes, wasn't it kind? you know Mrs. Phillips and the girls are going away and 'Prince' will need exercising." "Of course." "Hasn't mama come home yet?" "I don't know." "Perhaps Mrs. Dane is worse." No answer. "It's almost supper time, I should think she would be here," and with that, Bea got up, somewhat discouraged with the one-sided conversation; but paused again at Olive's side. "Oh! what a lovely face," she exclaimed, bending over the artist's shoulder. "Where did you get it, Olive?" "Made it up." "Well, I really envy you such a talent; I have none at all. Why do you make her look so sad?"