Monteith's side, the envy of many another city belle.

That night Edna stood at the window of her little chamber, looking
out on the fair earth glittering like diamonds in the moonlight. She
was not often in the mood she found herself in tonight: restless,
gloomy, with no heart for anything. She began to take herself to task
for it. Why had the light suddenly gone out of everything and life to
seem flat and dull? She knew why. It was simply because she had seen
that bewitching-looking girl riding with Mr. Monteith. And what of
that? Was she foolish enough to believe that he cared for her, a
simple country girl, just because he had given her a few flowers and
called there. He probably considered these common attentions that he
offered to many others. Her cheeks burned at the remembrance of the
delight she had felt in his society. The last few weeks had been the
happiest she had ever known. No words of his would justify her,
either. She was vexed at herself. Here it had turned out that she was
just like any other silly girl, holding her heart in her hand, ready
to bestow it unasked. In her self-accusing spirit, she forgot that
looks and tones may speak volumes in the absence of words.

"Now, Edna Winters," she told herself, as she stared out on the white
hills, "you might as well look things in the face to-night and have
it done with. I shall probably spend a great part of my life on this
very hill, living on in just the way I did before I knew him. Why
not? That is the way Samantha Moore and Jane Williams have been doing
these ever so many years. They keep right on, and on, and on. Nothing
happens to them. There is no change in their lives. Why should there
be in mine? They clean house spring and fall, can fruit, go to town,
have the sewing society, and so on"--and Edna shuddered a little at
the picture she had sketched of her own future. These two were