She has a beautiful home, dresses magnificently, and has a retinue of servants; and yet I fancy she is not happy.

That somewhere hidden out of sight there is a worm eating at the core of her life.

She has a way of dropping her eyes and an absent look about her that I do not fully understand, but it seems to me that I miss the old elasticity of her spirits, the merry ring of her voice, the pleasant thrills of girlish laughter, and though she never confesses it to me I doubt that Jeanette is happy.

And with this sad experience in the past can you blame me if I am slow, very slow to let the broken tendrils of my heart entwine again ?" "Miss Belle," said Paul Clifford catching eagerly at the smallest straw of hope, "if you can not give me the first love of a fresh young life, I am content with the rich [aftermath ?] of your maturer years, and ask from life no higher prize; may I not hope for that ?" "I will think on it but for the present let us change the subject." * * * * * "Do you think Jeanette is happy?
She seems so different from what she used to be," said Miss Tabitha Jones to several friends who were spending the evening with her.
"Happy!" replied Mary Gladstone, "don't see what's to hinder her from being happy.

She has everything that heart can wish.