Elsie was much startled by this question. She knew what she meant very well, but she had not intended to betray to her mother, or any one, what that hidden meaning was, and the words had come to her lips in the tide of feeling without thought. She gave one hurried glance at her mother’s face, herself crimson red from chin to brow. “I was meaning nothing,” she said. “That is not the way folk look when they mean nothing,” her mother said. “But it’s true. I meant just nothing, nothing! I meant I would want no plenishing like Marion. I meant--that you need not take account of me, or say, as I’ve heard you saying, ‘I must put this by for’--it used always to be for Marion. You are not to think of me like that,” Elsie cried. “And wherefore no? If I were not to think of you like that, I would be an ill mother: and why you less than another? You are taking no whimsies into your head, I hope, Elsie--for that is a thing I could not put up with at all.” “I have no whimsies in my head, mother,” cried Elsie bending low over her work. “You have something in it, whimsey or no,” said her mother severely, “that is not known to me.” And there was a little relapse into silence and sewing for both. Elsie’s breath came quick over her lengthened seam, the needle stumbled in her hold and pricked her fingers. She cast about all around her desperately for something to say. Indeed no--she had not meant anything, not anything that could be taken hold of and discussed: though it was equally true that she knew what she meant. How to reconcile these things! but they were both true. “Mother,” she said, after five dreadful moments of silence, and assuming a light tone which was very unlike her feelings. “Do you mind you told me that if there was any way I could make it up to Frank--but now that he’s to be so well off there will be no need of that any more.” “Were you ever disposed to make it up to Frank?” her mother said quickly, taking the girl by surprise. “I never thought about it--I--might never have had any occasion--I--don’t know what I could have--done,” Elsie replied, faltering. “Because,” said Mrs. Buchanan in the same rapid tone, “it would just be better than ever now. He will have a very good estate, and he’s a very nice callant--kind and true, and not so silly as you might expect from his upbringing. If that was your thought, Elsie, it would be far wiser than I ever gave you credit for--and your father and me, we would never have a word but good and blessing to say----” “Oh, mother,” cried Elsie, “you to say the like of that to me--because a person was to have a good estate!” “And wherefore no? A good estate is a very good thing: and plenty of siller, if it is not the salt of life--oh, my dear, many a time it gives savour to the dish. Wersh, wersh without it is often the household bread.”