the warmer, more southern cities simply because they were here.

Therefore one morning during the last week of February all bade good-by
to their pleasant home in Florence.

"It seems like an age since we first came here, doesn't it, Bab, dear?"
said Bettina, as they entered together the spacious waiting-room of the
central railroad station.

"Yes, Betty; are we the same girls?" answered Barbara, and her smile had
just a touch of dreariness.

Mr. Sumner and Malcom were seeing to the weighing of the luggage; Mrs.
Douglas, Margery, and Miss Sherman were together; and for a moment the
two girls were alone.

Somehow Bettina felt a peculiarly tender care of her sister just now,
and was never absent from her side if she could help it. Without
understanding why or what it was, she yet felt that something had
happened which put a slight barrier between them; that something in
which she had no share had touched Barbara. She had been wistfully
watching her ever since she had returned from the visit to Howard, and
was striving to keep all opportunity for painful thought from her.

At present, Barbara shrank from telling even Bettina, from whom she had
never before hidden a thought, of that last meeting with Howard. No girl
could ever mistake such a look as that which had lighted his eyes as she
stooped to kiss his brow in answer to Mrs. Douglas's request. There
would be no need for Mrs. Douglas ever to tell her the story. The loving
devotion that shone forth even in his uttermost weakness had thrilled