Whether it was that she felt there was something dangerous in the air, or that Harry Goldthwaite had some new awfulness in her eyes from being actually a commissioned officer,--Ensign Goldthwaite, now, (Rose had borrowed from the future, for the sake of euphony and effect, when she had so retorted feet and dignities upon her last year,)--we could not guess; but his name or presence seemed all at once a centre of electrical disturbances in which her whisks and whirls were simply to be wondered at. "I don't see why he should tell _me_ things," was what she said to Rosamond one day, when she took her to task after Harry had gone, for making off almost before he had done speaking, when he had been telling us of the finishing of some business that Mr. Goldthwaite had managed for him in Newburyport. It was the sale of a piece of property that he had there, from his father, of houses and building-lots that had been unprofitable to hold, because of uncertain tenants and high taxes, but which were turned now into a comfortable round sum of money. "I shall not be so poor now, as if I had only my pay," said Harry. At which Barbara had disappeared. "Why, you were both there!" said Barbara. "Well, yes; we were there in a fashion. He was sitting by you, though, and he looked up at you, just then. It did not seem very friendly." "I'm sure I didn't notice; I don't see why he should tell me things," said whimsical Barbara. "Well, perhaps he will stop," said Rose, quietly, and walked away. It seemed, after a while, as if he would. He could not understand Barbara in these days. All her nice, cordial, honest ways were gone. She was always shying at something. Twice he was here, when she did not come into the room until tea-time. "There are so many people," she said, in her unreasonable manner. "They make me nervous, looking and listening." We had Miss Craydocke and Mrs. Scherman with us then. We had asked them to come and spend a week with us before they left Z----. Miss Craydocke had found Barbara one evening, in the twilight, standing alone in one of the brown-room windows. She had come up, in her gentle, old-friendly way, and stood beside her. "My dear," she said, with the twilight impulse of nearness,--"I am an old woman. Aren't you pushing something away from you, dear?" "Ow!" said Barbara, as if Miss Craydocke had pinched her. And poor Miss Craydocke could only walk away again. When it came to Aunt Roderick, though, it was too much. Aunt Roderick came over a good deal now. She had quite taken us into unqualified approval again, since we had got the house. She approved herself also. As if it was she who had died and left us something, and looked back upon it now with satisfaction. At least, as if she had been the September Gale, and had taken care of that paper for us. Aunt Roderick has very good practical eyes; but no sentiment whatever. "It seems to me, Barbara, that you are throwing away your opportunities," she said, plainly.