smiling at it with them, while I chafed inwardly at her neglect,
forgetting that I might have been the cause.

Pacing down the garden paths with Agnes at my side, our steps were
arrested by a sudden sight of Effie fast asleep among the flowers. She
looked a flower herself, lying with her flushed cheek pillowed on her
arm, sunshine glittering on the ripples of her hair, and the changeful
lustre of her dainty dress. Tears moistened her long lashes, but her
lips smiled, as if in the blissful land of dreams she had found some
solace for her grief.

"A 'Sleeping Beauty' worthy the awakening of any prince!" whispered
Alfred Vaughan, pausing with admiring eyes.

A slight frown swept over Agnes's face, but vanished as she said, with
that low-toned laugh that never seemed unmusical before,--

"We must pardon Mrs. Ventnor's seeming rudeness, if she welcomes us with
graceful scenes like this. A child-wife's whims are often prettier than
the world's formal ways; so do not chide her, Basil, when she wakes."

I was a proud man then, touched easily by trivial things. Agnes's
pitying manner stung me, and the tone in which I wakened Effie was far
harsher than it should have been. She sprang up; and with a gentle
dignity most new to me received her guests, and played the part of
hostess with a grace that well atoned for her offence.

Agnes watched her silently as she went before us with young Vaughan, and
even I, ruffled as my temper was, felt a certain pride in the loving
creature who for my sake conquered her timidity and strove to do me