We can be sure of nothing."

But we grew more fond than ever of the old, sunshiny house. In October
Harry Goldthwaite went away again on a year's cruise.

Rosamond had a letter from Mrs. Van Alstyne, from New York. She folded
it up after she had read it, and did not tell us anything about it.
She answered it next day; and it was a month later when one night up
stairs she began something she had to say about our winter shopping
with,--

"If I had gone to New York--" and there she stopped, as if she had
accidentally said what she did not intend.

"If you had gone to New York! Why! When?" cried Barbara. "What do you
mean?"

"Nothing," Rosamond answered, in a vexed way. "Mrs. Van Alstyne asked
me, that is all. Of course I couldn't."

"Of course you're just a glorious old _noblesse oblige_-d! Why didn't
you say something? You might have gone perhaps. We could all have
helped. I'd have lent you--that garnet and white silk!"

Rosamond would not say anything more, and she would scarcely be
kissed.

After all, she had co-operated more than any of us. Rose was always
the daughter who objected and then did. I have often thought that
young man in Scripture ought to have been a woman. It is more a