the only thing in the wide world she wants,” Rose had promptly, compendiously said to herself. There had been a sequel to this observation, uttered, in intense engrossment, in her own room half an hour before she had, on the important evening, made known her decision to her grandmother: “Then I’ll _take_ her out!” “She’ll drag you down, she’ll drag you down!” Julia Tramore permitted herself to remark to her niece, the next day, in a tone of feverish prophecy. As the girl’s own theory was that all the dragging there might be would be upward, and moreover administered by herself, she could look at her aunt with a cold and inscrutable eye. “Very well, then, I shall be out of your sight, from the pinnacle you occupy, and I sha’n’t trouble you.” “Do you reproach me for my disinterested exertions, for the way I’ve toiled over you, the way I’ve lived for you?” Miss Tramore demanded. “Don’t reproach _me_ for being kind to my mother and I won’t reproach you for anything.” “She’ll keep you out of everything—she’ll make you miss everything,” Miss Tramore continued. “Then she’ll make me miss a great deal that’s odious,” said the girl. “You’re too young for such extravagances,” her aunt declared. “And yet Edith, who is younger than I, seems to be too old for them: how do you arrange that? My mother’s society will make me older,” Rose replied. “Don’t speak to me of your mother; you _have_ no mother.” “Then if I’m an orphan I must settle things for myself.” “Do you justify her, do you approve of her?” cried Miss Tramore, who was inferior to her niece in capacity for retort and whose limitations made the girl appear pert. Rose looked at her a moment in silence; then she said, turning away: “I think she’s charming.” “And do you propose to become charming in the same manner?” “Her manner is perfect; it would be an excellent model. But I can’t discuss my mother with you.” “You’ll have to discuss her with some other people!” Miss Tramore proclaimed, going out of the room.