elevators, after the most erratic and extraordinary fashion; a vivid spot on either cheek, and eyes in a shadow, and a mouth that grew graver every hour. O if she could but order the coachman to drive—anywhere—till she said stop!—but no such orders could go through Byrom; she must work off her mood at home. And so at last, in the darkest dress she had, Wych Hazel once more sat down before the fire, and put her face in her hands. All through the day, under and over everything else, the old shyness had green growing up, mixing itself with the new,—the old dread of having a man speak to her in the way of comment, with a thought of blame. Would anybody do it now? So she sat until steps came to the door and the door opened; then she rose quickly up. But the matter which had occasioned her so many thoughts, had scarcely given Rollo one; and it was plain he had fully forgotten it now in his gladness at seeing her again after the long day. His face had nothing but gladness; and as he took her in his arms she felt that the gladness was very tender. 'Work all done!' he asked. 'O no.'—Hazel was glad too. The day _had_ been long. 'But I am going to play to-morrow!' 'Well, what about it?' 'Work must wait. We have got a great deal to do. Don't you agree with me, that every full cup ought to flow over into some empty ones?' 'Instead of into its own saucer?' said Hazel, who was rather abstractedly brushing off an imaginary grain of dust from his coat stuff. 'Perhaps it would be safe to allow that I do.' 'Well,' said Rollo laughing at her, 'there are plenty of empty cups. How many can we fill to-morrow?' 'If you have been at work on that problem, no wonder you want play. How many?—I do not know. How much too full is your cup to-night?' 'It feels like the widow's inexhaustible cruise of oil. And by the way, I believe that the store from which anybody may supply others, is inexhaustible. Now let us consider.' And he stood silent and thoughtful a few minutes, Hazel not interrupting him. 'I can tell you one thing,' he began again. 'Prudentia Coles would like a black silk dress; and she cannot afford it.' 'I certainly owe her that,' said Hazel,—'and a royal purple to boot.' 'How do you "owe" it?' 'For tipping my cup over, once. I wonder whether she thought I was too happy to be let alone?' 'Give her both the dresses, Hazel. _She_ is not a happy woman. It will fill her cup for the time being.' 'Then, if you talk of debts,' said Hazel, 'I owe Prim the greatest quantity of wholesome animadversion. It never was of the least use to me,—but she ought to be paid for it, all the same.' 'I suppose you deserved it,' said Rollo coolly. 'Do you?' said Hazel. _Had_ she? Her thoughts flew over the confusions of the day,—then before she began again, Rollo asked, 'Have you written to Mr. Falkirk, Hazel?' 'I? No. I have nothing to say to him.' Rollo looked at her, first with a grave consideration, and then his lips twitched.