Miss Stuart's visit was drawing to a close, and Nan was giving a luncheon in her honor. The little parlor of the parsonage was redolent with the fragrance of roses and mignonette, which were massed in every vase and bowl, and the arrangement of the simple, old-fashioned furniture bore evidence of Nan's artistic taste. A few good etchings and a half-dozen rare old prints adorned the walls, and scattered about on the low mantel were several valuable bits of vertu.

Nan stood in the center of the room, and received her guests with outstretched hand and beaming face.

"Now, I call this delightful," she said cheerily, as she shook hands with Miss Stuart. "Even father has gone away for the day, so we are a typical Hetherford party—all girls and no men. Em said you would be bored to death," she rattled on in a confidential undertone, "but for once in a way I thought you might find it amusing to have plenty of your own sex. It is no novelty to us, as Em will tell you with a face as long as the moral code."

"I think it is charming," Miss Stuart affirmed, with a greater regard for amiability than for truth.

Nan smiled mischievously.

"Confess it is dull."

"Indeed it is not, Miss Nan. The imp of dullness would never dare to show his surly face in your presence."

"Ah, you do not know," and Nan shook her head in laughing protest. "Drop in here any Sunday between church-time and dinner, and you will find us boon companions."

The door into the dining-room was opened, and a grim-visaged woman in a starched calico gown of uncompromising stiffness appeared on the threshold. For a moment she eyed Nan threateningly, and then announced:

"Your lunch is on the table," and added, as she faced about and marched back into the dining room, "and it's getting cold."

Nan, in no wise disconcerted, turned a wry face toward her guests:

"Biddy and I had one of our most deadly affrays just before you arrived, so don't be surprised at anything she may give us for luncheon. I tried, for your sakes, to keep my temper until later in the day, but it wouldn't be kept."

"It never will," sighed Emily ruefully, in the midst of the general laugh.

Nan ushered them into the dining room:

"Miss Stuart, will you sit here on my right? Girls, take any places you want."

"You needn't have worried about luncheon, Nan. These biscuits are simply delicious," observed Helen, consolingly, as Bridget vanished into the kitchen. "Biddy is far too proud of her skill to disgrace you."

"Oh, she would not mind me," laughed Nan airily. "Nothing would restrain her but her sense of importance, and her undying jealousy of your cook."

"What a glorious time we had at the dance," Emily remarked irrelevantly. "It was about the most successful thing we have done this summer. It has made such a difference having the Vortex here, hasn't it, Jean?"

Jean, thus addressed, changed color rapidly, and then was furious with herself, for she caught Miss Stuart's eyes fixed on her with insolent directness.

"Oh, bother the Vortex," cried Mollie petulantly. "Don't let us talk about men. There are dozens of subjects more interesting."

"We will make it 'man,' and talk of Dick. Eh, Mollie?" and Nathalie laughed provokingly.

"We couldn't do better," responded Mollie imperturbably. "Dick is lovely, is he not, Miss Stuart?"

Miss Stuart flung back her head with a merry laugh; no whit embarrassed by the naÏve question. Dick had been her shadow for the past week, and was sighing and pining like the most approved of lovers, yet she answered with a nonchalance which Nathalie would have given worlds to acquire.

"He is truly charming, Miss Mollie. I quite share your enthusiasm."

Then she dropped out of the conversation, listening with languid interest to the topics which the others fell to discussing with much animation. Their views of life differed materially from her own; their complete unworldliness called a half-contemptuous smile to her lips, and yet there was awakened within her a shadowy feeling of regret. She had lived a purely pleasure-loving life, without a thought beyond her own advancement along the line of her ambitions. To a certain extent she had been eminently successful. Her marvelous beauty, supplemented by a decided mental ability, had strewn her path with the admiration and adulation which she craved, and faults and failings, which in a less beautiful woman would have received harsh censure, were in her case overlooked and condoned. To-day, for the first time, the thought assailed her that perhaps she was the victim of an erroneous idea; that perhaps these young girls, living their lives so simply, actuated by a desire to act uprightly and to be honest and affectionate in every relationship in life, had found a happiness which had eluded her grasp.

Nathalie, who vainly strove at times to be cynical, made some careless remark, and Miss Stuart listened wonderingly to a gentle remonstrance which Eleanor administered in accents of earnestness.

"Ah! Nat, dear, don't say that, even in fun. Everything makes a difference."

"Indeed, yes," added Helen.

She quoted the lines charmingly, despite the little shyness which was so characteristic of her.

"I suppose that is true," said Mollie thoughtfully; "and in the large things in life we know that we can only be in harmony with God's plan by acting absolutely in accordance with our consciences. But it is hard to realize the importance of our decision in regard to the small daily occurrences. They seem almost too insignificant to exert any influence, either for good or evil."

"Influence does not lie only in deeds, Mollie," Eleanor replied, "either small or great. It seems to me that it is what we are, not what we do, that is the essential thing. If one's heart is pure and true, purity and truth will be manifested in one's actions, however trivial. And remember, dear, for I am going to quote now:

Jean gave her friend's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"I do believe you are the best girl living," she whispered softly, with an air of profound conviction.

"You see, girls, what it is to have a friend like Jean."

"You mean like Eleanor," Jean promptly retorted.

"I suppose that is true friendship," mused Mollie.

"Must friendship necessarily be as blind as love?" queried Nan, with a smile at the two girls which robbed the words of any sting.

"Jean knows nothing of love," declared Emily, with an air of superiority which was eminently amusing. It was common parlance that Emily never saw the general aspect of things quite as clearly as most people.

Jean joined somewhat constrainedly in the laugh that greeted these words, and wondered if it could be her imagination that Miss Stuart's smile held a covert sneer.

It was late in the afternoon when Helen reached the manor and made her way up to the nursery. The room was dim, for heavy clouds shortened the summer day. A sharp east wind moaned through the trees outside, and nurse had wisely lighted a wood fire in the wide chimneyplace. Its fitful flickering light fell full on little Gladys kneeling before the hearth, her eyes big with excitement as her chubby hands shaped a wonderful house of blocks; while near her Larry, lying flat on his back, threw out occasional hints and suggestions as to its construction. Willie, curled up in one of the deep window-seats, was making the best of the fast-fading daylight to finish a story which, to judge from his absorbed expression, must have been of thrilling interest. As Helen pushed open the door and advanced toward the cheerful fire, three pairs of eyes looked up to greet her.

"Well, chicks, you all look very happy and comfie."

Gladys thrust out her hands in quick alarm to save her block house from dangerous contact with the skirt of Helen's gown.

"P'ease take care, sister," she lisped. "Don't step on our b'ocks, 'cause Larry an' me is buildin' a big castle."

"Baby, baby, 'Larry an' me is buildin'?'"

Gladys shook her fluffy head impatiently.

"I haven't got any time to bovver. I'm velly busy."

Helen laughed, and dropping down upon the floor, began to lend a helping hand. Gladys sank back on her heels with a complacent sigh.

"Build a booful one, sister, big as this," raising her arms high over her head.

Helen nodded, but paused from her task, block in hand, to give a glance at Willie.

"Put down your book, dearie," she said to him. "This is the worst possible light to read in. You will ruin your eyes."

Willie heaved a sigh as he closed the precious book and, stretching himself after his cramped position, rose slowly to his feet, and joined the group before the fire. Flinging himself down near Helen, he laid his head in her lap. She patted his little round face affectionately, and went on with her castle-building.

The setting sun had broken through the clouds, and a flood of yellow light streamed through the western windows. From the huge logs in the fireplace an increasing volume of flames roared up the chimney, its ruddy glow illuminating the eager faces of the children, intent on every movement of their sister's deft hands. The truly wonderful house of blocks was nearing completion when Jean came quietly into the room. For a moment she stood silent in the shadowy doorway contemplating the pretty scene with wistful eyes. As she approached more nearly she unconsciously echoed Helen's words of a few moments past.

"Well, you look very happy, all of you."

Helen laughed softly.

"This is an exciting moment, Jeanie, so you must not marvel if we are not very talkative."

Jean leaned against one side of the old-fashioned chimneyplace, and absently watched the placing of the last few blocks.

"Gladys," she whispered, after a moment, "what do you think I saw just now?"

"What, Jeanie?" lifting her flushed face to her sister's.

"Mary on her way upstairs with your supper, and oh, what cookies!"

"Goody!" cried Larry, springing to his feet with a bound which brought the beautiful castle tumbling to the ground.

"You naughty boy!" scolded Gladys crossly. "See what you done!"

Jean took the angry, pouting little face between her hands, and smiled tenderly down into the tearful eyes:

"It is hard luck, baby, but you might as well get used to having your castles demolished."

"It's a shame," grumbled Willie, who was almost as disappointed as his little sister. "Larry's always rough."

"Never mind, dear," interrupted Helen, rising from the floor. "I am sure Larry didn't mean to upset the house, and in any case we could not leave it in Mary's way."

"Bother Mary."

"Hush, Willie, you must not speak so. Now run away and dress for dinner. Larry and Gladys must have their supper."

Jean followed her sister out into the hall, and laid a detaining hand on her arm.

"Helen," she said, very low, "are you ever really unhappy?"

"Why yes, Jean, sometimes. But why do you ask? Surely you are always in good spirits."

Jean smiled a little bitterly:

"Oh, of course I am, and I suppose I must go on fulfilling my destiny until the end of the chapter. But even if one has a reputation for unending hilarity, there are times——" She broke off abruptly with a laugh which suggested tears, and rushed away in the direction of her room, leaving Helen sorely puzzled.