'What a start you have been getting!' said Agnes lazily. 'But what
is it makes the poor old thing so excited?'

Rose sat up and began to fling the fir-cones lying about her at a
distant mark with an energy worthy of her physical perfections and
the aesthetic freedom of her attire.

'Because, my dear, Mrs. Thornburgh at the present moment is always
seeing herself as the conspirator sitting match in hand before a
mine. Mr. Elsmere is the match--we are the mine.'

Agnes looked at her sister, and they both laughed, the bright
rippling laugh of young women perfectly aware of their own value,
and in no hurry to force an estimate of it on the male world.

'Well,' said Rose deliberately, her delicate cheek flushed with her
gymnastics, her eyes sparkling, 'there is no saying. "Propinquity
does it"--as Mrs. Thornburgh is always reminding us. But where
_can_ Catherine be? She went out directly after lunch.'

'She has, gone out to see that youth who hurt his back at the
Tysons--at least I heard her talking to mamma about him, and she
went out with a basket that looked like beef-tea.'

Rose frowned a little.

'And I suppose I ought to have been to the school or to see Mrs.
Robson instead of fiddling all the afternoon. I dare say I ought--only
unfortunately I like my fiddle, and I don't like stuffy cottages,