blossoms--white, with pale pink hearts. I gathered a cluster and
pinned it loosely on my breast. But my eyes filled as I did
so--I felt so very, very desolate.

I was all alone, and it was bitter. The roses, much as I loved
them, could not give me sufficient companionship. I wanted the
clasp of a human hand, and the love-light in human eyes. And
then I fell to thinking of Hugh, though I tried not to.

I had always lived alone with Hester. I did not remember our
parents, who had died in my babyhood. Hester was fifteen years
older than I, and she had always seemed more like a mother than a
sister. She had been very good to me and had never denied me
anything I wanted, save the one thing that mattered.

I was twenty-five before I ever had a lover. This was not, I
think, because I was more unattractive than other women. The
Merediths had always been the "big" family of Newbridge. The
rest of the people looked up to us, because we were the
granddaughters of old Squire Meredith. The Newbridge young men
would have thought it no use to try to woo a Meredith.

I had not a great deal of family pride, as perhaps I should be
ashamed to confess. I found our exalted position very lonely,
and cared more for the simple joys of friendship and
companionship which other girls had. But Hester possessed it in
a double measure; she never allowed me to associate on a level of
equality with the young people of Newbridge. We must be very
nice and kind and affable to them--_noblesse oblige_, as it
were--but we must never forget that we were Merediths.