“The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the rain told us that; and he is unavoidably prevented from calling, and entreats your sympathy and commiseration. Well, that's a very nice note, I am sure.” “Where has he been these three days! He might have known it would be stupid, and Harry gives one no satisfaction.” Maimie was undeniably cross. “And Ranald, too,” she went on, “where has he been? Not even your music could bring him!” with a little spice of spite. “I think men are just horrid, anyway.” “Especially when they will keep away,” said Kate. “Well, what are they good for if not to entertain us? I wish we could do without them! But I do think Ranald might have come.” “Well,” said Kate, emphatically, “I can't see why you should expect him.” “Why not?” “I think you ought to know.” “I, how should I know?” Maimie's innocent blue eyes were wide open with surprise. “Nonsense,” cried Kate, with impatience rare in her, “don't be absurd, Maimie; I am not a child.” “What do YOU mean?” “You needn't tell me you don't know why Ranald comes. Do you want him to come?” “Why, of course I do; how silly you are.” “Well,” said Kate, deliberately, “I would rather be silly than cruel and unkind.” “Why, Kate, how dreadful of you!” exclaimed Maimie; “'cruel and unkind!'” “Yes.” said Kate; “you are not treating Ranald well. You should not encourage him to--to--care for you when you do not mean to--to--go on with it.” “Oh, what nonsense; Ranald is not a baby; he will not take any hurt.” “Oh, Maimie,” said Kate, and her voice was low and earnest, “Ranald is not like other men. He does not understand things. He loves you and he will love you more every day if you let him. Why don't you let him go?” “Let him go!” cried Maimie, “who's keeping him?” But as she spoke the flush in her cheek and the warm light in her eye told more clearly than words that she did not mean to let him go just then. “You are,” said Kate, “and you are making him love you.” “Why, how silly you are,” cried Maimie; “of course he likes me, but--” “No, Maimie,” said Kate, with sad earnestness, “he loves you; you can see it in the way he looks at you; in his voice when he speaks and--oh, you shouldn't let him unless you mean to--to--go on. Send him right away!” There were tears in Kate's dark eyes. “Why, Katie,” cried Maimie, looking at her curiously, “what difference does it make to you? And besides, how can I send him away? I just treat him as I do Mr. De Lacy.” “De Lacy!” cried Kate, indignantly. “De Lacy can look after himself, but Ranald is different. He is so serious and--and so honest, and he means just what he says, and you are so nice to him, and you look at him in such a way!” “Why, Kate, do you mean that I try to--” Maimie was righteously indignant.