"
"Ah, you are thinking of the stone walls of a certain farm cottage. I
can imagine you sitting propped up in bed, with a volume of hymns
marking the line, 'Stone walls do not a prison make,' with a big
exclamation-point, and a 'So true!'"
Rose leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
"Are you very tired, dear?" inquired her friend, with real tenderness.
"Very tired," was the languid reply, that was not without a satirical
intonation. "It seems as though my rest was a good deal broken."
"Broken bone! broken heart! broken rest! dear me! Well, I suppose they
follow each other in natural sequence."
"Helene," said her mother, "you are chattering like a magpie. What is
it all about?"
"Broken utterances, mamma. Not worth piecing together and repeating."
Madame DeBerczy, seated alone at the other end of the apartment,
turned upon her daughter a face of such majestic severity as
effectually to quell that young lady's recklessly merry mood. But it
was not for long. The irrepressible joyousness of her nature was not
permanently subdued until two weeks later, when the family were
surprised by the unlooked-for appearance of Edward Macleod.
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