state, and I'll look in the glass; for I'd like to see if it is becoming," said Rose, merrily, as she sorted her gay worsteds.
"'Your feet in the full-grown grasses,
Moved soft as a soft wind blows;
You passed me as April passes,
With a face made out of a rose,'"
murmured Mac, under his breath, thinking of the white figure going up a green slope one summer day; then, as if chiding himself for sentimentality, he set Psyche down with great care, and began to talk about a course of solid reading for the winter.
After that, Rose saw very little of him for several weeks, as he seemed to be making up for lost time, and was more odd and absent than ever when he did appear. As she became accustomed to the change in his external appearance, she discovered that he was altering fast in other ways, and watched the "distinguished-looking gentleman" with much interest; saying to herself, when she saw a new sort of dignity about him alternating with an unusual restlessness of manner, and now and then a touch of sentiment, "Genius is simmering, just as I predicted."
As the family were in mourning, there were no festivities on Rose's twenty-first birthday, though the boys had planned all sorts of rejoicings. Every one felt particularly tender toward their girl on that day, remembering how "poor Charlie" had loved her; and they tried to show it in the gifts and good wishes they
