kindly, and had she smiled or even laughed at the figure of Aunt Cathie, unspeakably attired, hurrying with her large flat feet and flapping sun-bonnet to where a ball had been a few moments before, and striking wildly at the innocent and empty air, her impatience and intolerance might have evaporated. But the sight did not amuse her; she was vexed and bored. And still farther from her than amusement was any feeling of tenderness. To her mind there was no pathos in the fact that Aunt Cathie should skip about like this in the sun. She knew nothing of the secret tragedy, of the lonely elderly heart that still ached for and yearned toward the youth it had never really known. Yet it was not altogether her fault, for her aunt was an adept at concealing what she longed to express, and cloaking what she pined to exhibit.
And so the dreary game went on, typical to the girl of her life here, of its unutterable tedium, of its joyless monotony, of its rare and lugubrious festivities. Tiresome though it was, she scarcely wished it to be ended, because there was nothing coming afterward. She would hold skeins while Aunt Elizabeth wound them, there would follow dinner, and afterwards she would observe Aunt Elizabeth vainly wrestling with patience, while Aunt Cathie dozed over a book, until the clock on the chimney-piece chimed a querulous ten, as if contradicting someone who denied the fact. They would all kiss each other and say goodnight, and retire with bed-candles, to recover in sleep from the effects of this annihilating day, and get strength for the next which would be exactly like this.
It all happened as Lucia had foreseen; she only had not an imagination quite vivid enough to realize the details of the monotony. Aunt Elizabeth, for instance, instead of being sour at tea, was bright and agreeable, but when the cause of her unusual sociability was declared, it seemed to Lucia that she was deadlier than ever. For it had happened that she had found exactly the bilious shade necessary for the repair of the headrest, and the spilt soup would therefore not stain the honour of the family for ever, as had once seemed probable. But this ray of brightness again had been firmly extinguished when it came to her ears that Catherine and Lucia had been playing lawn-tennis.
"After your frivolous afternoon, Lucia," she said, "I suppose you would find it intolerable to hold my skein. I shall be able to
