grateful to her for enhancing his sister's happiness.

But to-day a change had taken place in the satisfactory tide of affairs.
Mr. Sumner had been willing--more than that--had _chosen_ to drive all
the way back from Assisi in the carriage with Malcom, Barbara, and
Bettina, and it was all she could do to hide her chagrin and
displeasure.

Mrs. Douglas, with her usual kind judgment, had decided that she was not
quite well, and throughout the drive had respected her evident desire
for silence, though she wondered a little at it.

So while she and Margery were talking about good St. Francis, whose
heart overflowed with love to every living creature--mankind, animals,
birds, and flowers, and whose whole life was given up to their
service--Miss Sherman hugged close her little jealous grievance and,
brooding over it, gave no thought to the associations of the place they
had just visited, or to the glorious Italian landscape through which
they were passing.

It was not that she really loved Mr. Sumner after all; that is, not as
some women love, for it was not in her nature to do so; but she did wish
to become his wife; and this had been her supreme thought during all the
months since she had met him. Lately the memory of his agitation when
Barbara had passed him that evening of the party had disagreeably
haunted her. It had so moved her that, truth to tell, she mourned over
Howard's death more because it served to withdraw an obstacle between
these two than for any other reason. That mere girl, she thought, might
prove a formidable rival. All the more had it seemed so, since she daily
saw what a lovely, noble young woman Barbara really was, and how worthy