The next morning the sun shone, and Mercy was herself again.

Her depression of the evening before seemed to her so causeless, so inexplicable, that she recalled it almost with terror, as one might a temporary insanity.

She blushed to think of her unreasonable sensitiveness to the words and tones of Stephen White.

"As if it made any sort of difference to mother and to me whether he were our friend or not.

He can do as he likes.