“I couldn’t buy anything here,” the girl replied quickly; “I suppose I’m foolish, but the thought--oh, poor things, how it must have hurt to sell them, one after another, for a trifle, too!” The old woman laughed softly. “You’re your father’s daughter, Rose,” she said; “I’m ashamed, but I’m going to buy that old mirror. Go up stairs and send Robert down with his purse; I don’t want you about, you make me uncomfortable!” “I suppose I am very silly,” Rose admitted reluctantly, “but I can’t help it.” “My dear, you’re perfectly right, I haven’t a doubt about it,” laughed Mrs. Allestree gently; “you haven’t a sense of humor, that’s all, child, and if I were a man I’d just as soon marry an animated conscience; you’ll either reform your husband or you’ll be the death of him! Now, go and send Robert, for I’m an old sinner and I want that mirror!” Rose went up stairs, laughing in spite of herself. But as she approached the studio she caught her breath, she heard voices, could Fox be there? She hesitated and stood still, agitated by the thought, then, unwilling to listen even to assure herself, she parted the portières and called to Allestree. As she did so she came face to face with Mrs. Osborne. This then was her destination when she had passed in the motor-car, Rose thought swiftly, but it was too late now to retreat; she gave Robert his mother’s message. “I’ll go,” he said, “if you’ll excuse me a moment, and bring mother up; if I don’t, she’ll get the whole shop on credit.” “Oh, go at once!” exclaimed Mrs. Osborne laughing; “that would be worse and more expensive than a bridge tournament.” Rose bit her lip; the reference was pointed and she caught Robert’s eye full of doubt. “Go,” she said hastily, “and bring your mother up stairs; she didn’t want me there to see her bargain.” “I shan’t be a moment,” he exclaimed, and they heard him running down stairs. Left alone with Mrs. Osborne, Rose moved to the window and looked out. The atmosphere was radiant; even the commonplace narrow street below was touched with the alchemy of spring; sunshine slanted across it, a flock of pigeons gathered where some grain had fallen, to rise with the whir of wings at the first alarm. The garden opposite, above the terrace wall, was coming into bloom, a tall magnolia in a fluttering mantle of white and pink and the lilacs full out on the southern slope, while behind it, a long row of young elm trees were still delicate with new greens, and beyond rose the gray tower of the church across the square. How sweet it was, how calm, how reassuring! Rose heard the rustle of the other woman’s silken linings as she moved restlessly about the studio, and after a moment she came over to the window, though Rose’s very attitude was repellent. “How full the lilacs are,” she observed, and the girl noticed the rich softness of her tone, “I like them; we had lilacs about the old house at home.”