SEPTEMBER ROSES The afternoon sunshine streamed through the dull gold curtains into the old print shop where Corinna sat in her tapestry-covered chair between the tea-table and the log fire.

She was alone for the moment; and lying back in the warmth and fragrance of the room, she let her gaze rest lovingly on one of the English mezzotints over which a stray sunbeam quivered.

The flames made a pleasant whispering sound over the cedar logs; her favourite wide-open creamy roses with golden hearts scented the air; and the delicate China tea in her cup was drawn to perfection.
As she lay back in the big chair but one thing disturbed her serenity--and that one thing was within.

She had everything that she wanted, and for the hour, at least, she was tired of it all.

The mood was transient, she knew.