"But I could take care of it," insisted Untie Percival. "I should like
to take care of it very much."

Laura drew the rabbit from his coat and held it a moment against her
bosom.

"It's a pretty little thing," she remarked carelessly, and added, "why
not keep it for yourself, Uncle Percival?"

As he glanced up at her the light of animation broke in his face.

"Why shouldn't I, indeed, why shouldn't I?" he demanded eagerly, and
hurried out before Mrs. Payne, with her Solomonic power of judgment,
could bring herself to the point of interference.

"I hope that will be a lesson to you with regard to men," she observed
as a parting shot while she tied her bonnet strings.

An uncontrollable distaste for her family swept over Laura, and she felt
that she could suffer no longer the authority of Mrs. Payne, the
senility of Uncle Percival or the sorrows of Angela. As she looked at
Mrs. Payne she was struck as if for the first time by her ridiculous
grotesqueness, and she experienced a sensation of disgust for the old
lady's stony eyes and carefully painted out wrinkles.

Without replying to the moral pointed by Uncle Percival and the white
rabbit, she left the room and hastily dressed herself for her morning
walk. The house had grown close and oppressive to her and she wanted the
January cold in her face and limbs. At the moment she was impatient of