"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" exclaimed Clover, starting up and kissing her.
"Let us look at you," said Mildred, holding her off and scrutinizing her with bright, audacious eyes. "No, they are not red," she continued; "I thought I might be coming home to a Niobe."
"They are both gone," said Clover plaintively.
"Yes." Mildred turned away to a mirror, and began removing her hat-pins. "I have been kept so busy consoling Helen Eames that I couldn't come home any sooner to dry your tears."
Her sister look at her inquiringly. Was there any bravado in this disappointing gayety? Apparently not. Mankind loves a lover, and Clover, especially loving this lover, felt tempted to resentment; but might it not be that Mildred indeed felt more light-hearted than for months past? Why should she be blamed, if she found relief in the knowledge that her home was free from a presence which had been in a way a constant reproach?
"I wish Jack did care for Helen Eames," returned the elder, unconsciously sighing.
"Yes; wouldn't it be convenient?"
"I'm glad you've come home, Milly. The house has seemed so empty."
"Oh, but what lovely flowers!" exclaimed the latter, espying a great bowl of roses in a shaded corner. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"They are not yours, my dear." Clover smiled at her work. "They came last night."