ROSALIND MERTON had been in the wildest spirits all day; she had laughed with the gayest, joined in all the games, thrown herself heart and soul into every project which promised fun, which gave a possibility for enjoyment. Rosalind's mood might have been described as reckless. This was not her invariable condition. She was a girl who, with all her gay spirits, took life with coolness. She was not given to over-excitement; her nerves were too well balanced for anything of this kind.

To-day, however, something seemed wrong with these equable nerves of hers: she could not keep still; her voice was never quiet; her laugh was constant. Once or twice she saw Annie Day's eyes fixed upon her; she turned from their glance; a more brilliant red than usual dyed her cheeks; her laugh grew louder and more insolent.

On this evening the Elliot-Smiths would give their long-promised party. The wish of Annie Day's heart was gratified; she had angled for an invitation to this merry-making and obtained it. Lucy Marsh was also going, and several other St. Benet's girls would be present.

Early in the evening Rosalind retired to her own room, locked her door, and, taking out her new white dress, laid it across the bed. It was a very pretty dress, made of soft silk, which did not rustle, but lay in graceful puffs and folds on body and skirt. It was just the dress to make this young, slight figure of Rosalind's look absolutely charming. She stood over it now and regarded it lovingly. The dress had been obtained, like most of Rosalind's possessions, by manoeuvres. She had made up a piteous story, and her adoring mother had listened and contrived to deny herself and some of Rosalind's younger sisters to purchase the white robe on which the young girl's heart was set.

Deliberately and slowly Rosalind made her toilet, her golden, curling hair was brushed out and then carefully coiled round her head. Rosalind had no trouble with her hair: a touch or two, a pin stuck here, a curl arranged there, and the arrangement became perfect— the glistening mass lay in natural waves over the small, graceful head.

Rosalind's hair arranged to her satisfaction, she put on her lovely white dress. She stood before her long glass, a white-robed little figure, smiles round her lips, a sweet, bright color in her cheeks, a dewy look in her baby-blue eyes. Rosalind's toilet was all but finished; she stood before her glass now and hesitated. Should she go to the Elliot-Smiths' as she was or should she give the last finishing touch to render herself perfect? Should she wear her beautiful coral ornaments?

The coral was now her own, paid for to the uttermost farthing; Polly Singleton could not come up to Rosalind now and disgrace her in public by demanding her coral back again. The coral was no longer Polly's; it was Rosalind's. The debt was cleared off; the exquisite ornaments were her own. Unlocking a drawer in her bureau, she took out a case, which contained her treasures; she touched the spring of the case, opened it and looked at them lovingly. The necklace, the bracelets, the earings and pins for the hair looked beautiful on their velvet pillow. For the sake of the pink coral, Rosalind had manoeuvred for her white dress; for its sake she had knowingly stinted her mother and sisters; for its sake she had also stolen a five-pound note from Maggie Oliphant. She dreamt many times of the triumphs which would be hers when she appeared at the Elliot-Smiths' in her white silk dress, just tipped with the slight color which the pink coral ornaments would bestow. Rosalind had likened herself to all kinds of lovely things in this beautiful yet simple toilet— to a daisy in the field, to a briar rose: in short, to every flower which denoted the perfection of baby innocence.

Yet, as she held the coral necklace in her hand tonight, she hesitated deeply whether it would be wise to appear at the Elliot-Smiths' in her treasured ornaments.

Rose had not felt comfortable all day. She had banished thought with the usual device of extra hilarity: she had crushed the little voice in her heart which would persistently cry, "Shame! shame!" which would go on telling her, "You are the meanest, the most wicked girl in St. Benet's; you have done something for which you could be put in prison." The voice had little opportunity of making itself heard that day, and, as Maggie Oliphant evidently did not intend to investigate the matter, Rosalind had every hope that her sin would never be found out. Nevertheless, she could not help feeling uneasy; for why did Annie Day, her own chosen and particular friend, so persistently avoid her? Why had Lucy Marsh refused to walk with her yesterday? and why did Annie so often look at her with meaning and inquiry in her eyes? These glances of Annie's caused Rosalind's heart to beat too quickly; they gave her an undefined sense of uneasiness.

She felt as she stood now before her glass that, after all, she was doing a rash thing in wearing her coral. Annie Day knew of her money difficulties; Annie knew how badly Rosalind had wanted four guineas to pay the debt she still owed for the ornaments. If Rosalind wore them to-night, Annie would ask numerous questions. Oh, yes, there was a risk— there was a decided risk— but Rosalind's vanity was greater than her fears.

There came a knock at her room door. To Rosalind's surprise, Annie Day's voice, with an extremely friendly tone in it, was heard outside.

"Are you ready, Rosie?" she cried; "for, if you are, there is just room for you in the fly with Lucy Marsh and Miss Singleton and myself."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Rosalind from the other side of the door; "just wait one moment, Annie, and I will be with you."

Both fear and hesitation vanished at the friendly tones of Annie's voice. She hastily fastened on her necklace and earrings, slipped on her bracelets and stuck the coral pins in her hair. She saw a dazzling little image in the glass and turned away with a glad, proud smile.

"We can't be kept waiting. Are you ready?" called Miss Day's voice in the passage.

"Yes, yes; in one moment, Annie, dear," replied Rosalind. She wrapped herself from head to foot in a long white opera cloak, pulled the hood over her head, seized her gloves and fan and opened the door. The coral could not be seen now, and Annie, who was also in white, took her hand and ran with her down the corridor.

A few moments later the four girls arrived at the Elliot-Smiths' and were shown into a dressing-room on the ground floor to divest themselves of their wraps. They were among the earliest of the arrivals, and Annie Day had both space and opportunity to rush up to Rosalind and exclaim at the perfect combination of white silk and pink coral.

"Lucy, Lucy!" she said, "do come and look at Rosalind's coral! Oh, poor Polly! you must miss your ornaments; but I am obliged frankly to confess, my dear, that they are more becoming to this little cherub than they ever were to you."

Polly was loudly dressed in blue silk. She came up and turned Rosalind round, and, putting her hand on her neck, lifted the necklace and looked at it affectionately.

"I did love those ornaments," she said; "but, of course, I can't grudge them to you, Rose. You paid a good sum for them— didn't you, dear?— although nothing like what they were worth, so, of course, they are yours by every right."

"You have paid off the debt? I congratulate you, Rose," said Annie Day.

"Yes," said Rosalind, blushing.

"I am glad you were able to get the money, my dear."

"And I wish she hadn't got it," retorted Polly. "Money is of no moment to me now. Dad is just rolling in wealth, and I have, in consequence, more money than I know what to do with. I confess I never felt crosser in my life than when you brought me that five-pounds note last Monday nigh............