terribly. Of course, I mean --" and she
blushed. "It might hurt her feelings --
but how perfectly ridiculous! It's impos-
sible!"

Miss Prudence held up the sketch of the
moss-rose.

"THAT may be impossible in an artistic
sense, but it is a palpable thing."

"Bosh!" cried Miss Boggs.

"But," protested Miss Prudence, "how do
you explain it?"

"I don't," said Miss Boggs, and left the
room.

That evening the sisters made a point of
being in the drawing-room before the dusk
came on, and of lighting the gas at the first
hint of twilight. They didn't believe in Miss
Lydia Carew -- but still they meant to be
beforehand with her. They talked with un-
wonted vivacity and in a louder tone than was
their custom. But as they drank their tea
even their utmost verbosity could not make
them oblivious to the fact that the perfume of
sweet lavender was stealing insidiously through