Laurie went to Nice intending to stay a week, and remaineda month. He was tired of wandering about alone, and Amy'sfamiliar presence seemed to give a homelike charm to theforeign scenes in which she bore a part. He rather missed the'petting' he used to receive, and enjoyed a taste of it again,for no attentions, however flattering, from strangers, were halfso pleasant as the sisterly adoration of the girls at home. Amynever would pet him like the others, but she was very glad tosee him now, and quite clung to him, feeling that he was therepresentative of the dear family for whom she longed morethan she would confess. They naturally took comfort in eachother's society and were much together, riding, walking, dancing,or dawdling, for at Nice no one can be very industrious duringthe gay season. But, while apparently amusing themselves inthe most careless fashion, they were half-consciously makingdiscoveries and forming opinions about each other. Amy rosedaily in the estimation of her friend, but he sank in hers,and each felt the truth before a word was spoken. Amy triedto please, and succeeded, for she was grateful for the manypleasures he gave her, and repaid him with the little servicesto which womanly women know how to lend an indescribablecharm. Laurie made no effort of any kind, but just lethimself drift along as comfortably as possible, trying toforget, and feeling that all women owed him a kind word becauseone had been cold to him. It cost him no effort to begenerous, and he would have given Amy all the trinkets inNice if she would have taken them, but at the same time hefelt that he could not change the opinion she was forming ofhim, and he rather dreaded the keen blue eyes that seemed towatch him with such half-sorrowful, half-scornful surprise.

"All the rest have gone to Monaco for the day. I preferredto stay at home and write letters. They are done now,and I am going to Valrosa to sketch, will you come?" said Amy,as she joined Laurie one lovely day when he lounged in as usual,about noon.

"Well, yes, but isn't it rather warm for such a long walk?"he answered slowly, for the shaded salon looked inviting afterthe glare without.

"I'm going to have the little carriage, and Baptiste candrive, so you'll have nothing to do but hold your umbrella,and keep your gloves nice," returned Amy, with a sarcasticglance at the immaculate kids, which were a weak point withLaurie.

"Then I'll go with pleasure." and he put out his hand forher sketchbook. But she tucked it under her arm with a sharp . . .

"Don't trouble yourself. It's no exertion to me, but youdon't look equal to it."

Laurie lifted his eyebrows and followed at a leisurely paceas she ran downstairs, but when they got into the carriage he tookthe reins himself, and left little Baptiste nothing to do but foldhis arms and fall asleep on his perch.

The two never quarreled. Amy was too well-bred, and just nowLaurie was too lazy, so in a minute he peeped under her hatbrimwith an inquiring air. She answered him with a smile, and theywent on together in the most amicable manner.

It was a lovely drive, along winding roads rich in the picturesquescenes that delight beauty-loving eyes. Here an ancientmonastery, whence the solemn chanting of the monks came down tothem. There a bare-legged shepherd, in wooden shoes, pointed hat,and rough jacket over one shoulder, sat piping on a stone whilehis goats skipped among the rocks or lay at his feet. Meek,mouse-colored donkeys, laden with panniers of freshly cut grasspassed by, with a pretty girl in a capaline sitting between thegreen piles, or an old woman spinning with a distaff as she went.Brown, soft-eyed children ran out from the quaint stone hovelsto offer nosegays, or bunches of oranges still on the bough.Gnarled olive trees covered the hills with their dusky foliage,fruit hung golden in the orchard, and great scarlet anemonesfringed the roadside, while beyond green slopes and craggy heights,the Maritime Alps rose sharp and white against the blue Italian sky.

Valrosa well deserved its name, for in that climate of perpetualsummer roses blossomed everywhere. They overhung thearchway, thrust themselves between the bars of the great gatewith a sweet welcome to passers-by, and lined the avenue, windingthrough lemon trees and feathery palms up to the villa on the hill.Every shadowy nook, where seats invited one to stop and rest, wasa mass of bloom, every cool grotto had its marble nymph smilingfrom a veil of flowers and every fountain reflected crimson, white,or pale pink roses, leaning down to smile at their own beauty.Roses covered the walls of the house, draped the cornices, climbedthe pillars, and ran riot over the balustrade of the wide terrace,whence one looked down on the sunny Mediterranean, and the white-walledcity on its shore.

"This is a regular honeymoon paradise, isn't it? Did youever see such roses?" asked Amy, pausing on the terrace to enjoythe view, and a luxurious whiff of perfume that came wandering by.

"No, nor felt such thorns," returned Laurie, with his thumbin his mouth, after a vain attempt to capture a solitary scarletflower that grew just beyond his reach.

"Try lower down, and pick those that have no thorns," saidAmy, gathering three of the tiny cream-colored ones that starredthe wall behind her. She put them in his buttonhole as a peaceoffering, and he stood a minute looking down at them with acurious expression, for in the Italian part of his nature therewas a touch of superstition, and he was just then in that stateof half-sweet, half-bitter melancholy, when imaginative youngmen find significance in trifles and food for romance everywhere.He had thought of Jo in reaching after the thorny red rose, forvivid flowers became her, and she had often worn ones like thatfrom the greenhouse at home. The pale roses Amy gave him werethe sort that the Italians lay in dead hands, never in bridalwreaths, and for a moment he wondered if the omen was for Jo orfor himself, but the next instant his American common sense gotthe better of sentimentality, and he laughed a heartier laughthan Amy had heard since he came.

"It's good advice, you'd better take it and save your fingers,"she said, thinking her speech amused him.

"Thank you, I will," he answered in jest, and a few monthslater he did it in earnest.

"Laurie, when are you going to your grandfather?" she askedpresently, as she settled herself on a rustic seat.

"Very soon."

"You have said that a dozen times within the last threeweeks."

"I dare say, short answers save trouble."

"He expects you, and you really ought to go."

"Hospitable creature! I know it."

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Natural depravity, I suppose."

"Natural indolence, you mean. It's really dreadful!"and Amy looked severe.

"Not so bad as it seems, for I should only plague him if I went, so Imight as well stay and plague you a little longer, you can bear itbetter, in fact I think it agrees with you excellently," and Lauriecomposed himself for a lounge on the broad ledge of the balustrade.

Amy shook her head and opened her sketchbook with anair of resignation, but she had made up her mind to lecture'that boy' and in a minute she began again.

"What are you doing just now?"

"Watching lizards."

"No, no. I mean what do you intend and wish to do?"

"Smoke a cigarette, if you'll allow me."

"How provoking you are! I don't approve of cigars and I will only allowit on condition that you let me put you into my sketch. I need a figure."

"With all the pleasure in life. How will you have me, fulllength or three-quarters, on my head or my heels? I shouldrespectfully suggest a recumbent posture, then put yourselfin also and call it 'Dolce far niente'."

"Stay as you are, and go to sleep if you like. I intend towork hard," said Amy in her most energetic tone.

"What delightful enthusiasm!" and he leaned against a tallurn with an air of entire satisfaction.

"What would Jo say if she saw you now?" asked Amy impatiently,hoping to stir him up by the mention of her still moreenergetic sister's name.

"As usual, 'Go away, Teddy. I'm busy!'" He laughed as hespoke, but the laugh was not natural, and a shade passed overhis face, for the utterance of the familiar name touched thewound that was not healed yet. Both tone and shadow struck Amy,for she had seen and heard them before, and now she looked upin time to catch a new expression on Laurie's face - a hard bitterlook, full of pain, dissatisfaction, and regret. It was gone beforeshe could study it and the listless expression back again.She watched him for a moment with artistic pleasure, thinkinghow like an Italian he looked, as he lay basking in the sunwith uncovered head and eyes full of southern dreaminess, forhe seemed to have forgotten her and fallen into a reverie.

"You look like the effigy of a young knight asleep on histomb," she said, carefully tracing the well-cut profile definedagainst the dark stone.

"Wish I was!"

"That's a foolish wish, unless you have spoiled your life.You are so changed, I sometimes think - " there Amy stopped,with a half-timid, half-wistful look, more significant than herunfinished speech.

Laurie saw and understood the affectionate anxiety whichshe hesitated to express, and looking straight into her eyes,said, just as he used to say it to her mother, "It's all right, ma'am."

That satisfied her and set at rest the doubts that had begunto worry her lately. It also touched her, and she showedthat it did, by the cordial tone in which she said . . .

"I'm glad of that! I didn't think you'd been a very badboy, but I fancied you might have wasted money at that wickedBaden-Baden, lost your heart to some charming Frenchwomanwith a husband, or got into some of the scrapes that young menseem to consider a necessary part of a foreign tour. Don'tstay out there in the sun, come and lie on the grass here and'let us be friendly', as Jo used to say when we got in the sofacorner and told secrets."

Laurie obediently threw himself down on the turf, andbegan to amuse himself by sticking daisies into the ribbons ofAmy's hat, that lay there.

"I'm all ready for the secrets." and he glanced up witha decided expression of interest in his eyes.

"I've none to tell. You may begin."

"Haven't one to bless myself with. I thought perhaps you'dhad some news from home.."

"You have heard all that has come lately. Don't you hearoften? I fancied Jo would send you volumes."

"She's very busy. I'm roving about so, it's impossible tobe regular, you know. When do you begin your great work of art,Raphaella?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly afteranother pause, in which he had been wondering if Amy knew hissecret and wanted to talk about it.

"Never," she answered, with a despondent but decided air."Rome took all the vanity out of me, for after seeing thewonders there, I felt too insignificant to live and gave upall my foolish hopes in despair."

"Why should you, with so much energy and talent?"

"That's just why, because talent isn't genius, and noamount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing.I won't be a common-place dauber, so I don't intend to try any more."

"And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask?"

"Polish up my other talents, and be an ornament to society,if I get the chance."

It was a characteristic speech, and sounded daring, butaudacity becomes young people, and Amy's ambition had a goodfoundation. Laurie smiled, but he liked the spirit withwhich she took up a new purpose when a long-cherished onedied, and spent no time lamenting.

"Good! And here is where Fred Vaughn comes in, I fancy."

Amy preserved a discreet silence, but there was a consciouslook in her downcast face that made Laurie sit up and say gravely,"Now I'm going to play brother, and ask questions. May I?"

"I don't promise to answer."

"Your face will, if your tongue won't. You aren't woman ofthe world enough yet to hide your feelings, my dear. I heardrumors about Fred and you last year, and it's my private opinionthat if he had not been called home so suddenly and detainedso long, something would have come of it, hey?"

"That's not for me to say," was Amy's grim reply, but her lipswould smile, and there was a traitorous sparkle of the eyewhich betrayed that she knew her power and enjoyed the knowledge.

"You are not engaged, I hope?" and Laurie looked veryelder-brotherly and grave all of a sudden.

"No."

"But you will be, if he comes back and goes properly downon his knees, won't you?"

"Very likely."

"Then you are fond of old Fred?"

"I could be, if I tried."

"But you don't intend to try till the proper moment? Blessmy soul, what unearthly prudence! He's a good fellow, Amy, butnot the man I fancied you'd like."

"He is rich, a gentleman, and has delightful manners,"began Amy, trying to be quite cool and dignified, but feelinga little ashamed of herself, in spite of the sincerity of herintentions.

"I understand. Queens of society can't get on without money,so you mean to make a good match, and start in that way? Quiteright and proper, as the world goes, but it sounds odd from thelips of one of your mother's girls."

"True, nevertheless."

A short speech, but the quiet decision with which it wasuttered contrasted curiously with the young speaker. Lauriefelt this instinctively and laid himself down again, with asense of disappointment which he could not explain. His lookand silence, as well as a certain inward self-disapproval,ruffled Amy, and made her resolve to deliver her lecturewithout delay.

"I wish you'd do me the favor to rouse yourself a little,"she said sharply.

"Do it for me, there's a dear girl."

"I could, if I tried." and she looked as if she would likedoing it in the most summary style.

"Try, then. I give you leave," returned Laurie, who enjoyedhaving someone to tease, after his long abstinence fromhis favorite pastime.

"You'd be angry in five minutes."

"I'm never angry with you. It takes two flints to make a fire.You are as cool and soft as snow."

"You don't know what I can do. Snow produces a glow and a tingle,if applied rightly. Your indifference is half affectation,and a good stirring up would prove it."

"Stir away, it won't hurt me and it may amuse you, as thebig man said when his little wife beat him. Regard me in thelight of a husband or a carpet, and beat till you are tired,if that sort of exercise agrees with you."

Being decidedly nettled herself, and longing to see himshake off the apathy that so altered him, Amy sharpened bothtongue and pencil, and began.

"Flo and I have got a new name for you. It's Lazy Laurence.How do you like it?"

She thought it would annoy him, but he only folded hisarms under his head, with an imperturbable, "That's not bad.Thank you, ladies."

"Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"

"Pining to be told."

"Well, I despise you."

If she had even said 'I hate you' in a petulant or coquettishtone, he would have laughed and rather liked it, butthe grave, almost sad, accent in her voice made him open hiseyes, and ask quickly . . .

"Why, if you please?"

"Because, with every chance for being good, useful, andhappy, you are faulty, lazy, and miserable."

"Strong language, mademoiselle."

"If you like it, I'll go on."

"Pray do, it's quite interesting."

"I thought you'd find it so. Selfish people always like totalk about themselves."

"Am I selfish?" the question slipped out involuntarily andin a tone of surprise, for the one virtue on which he pridedhimself was generosity.

"Yes, very selfish," continued Amy, in a calm, cool voice,twice as effective just then as an angry one. "I'll show youhow, for I've studied you while we were frolicking, and I'mnot at all satisfied with you. Here you have been abroadnearly six months, and done nothing but waste time and moneyand disappoint your friends."

"Isn't a fellow to have any pleasure after a four-yeargrind?"

"You don't look as if you'd had much. At any rate, you arenone the better for it, as far as I can see. I said when wefirst met that you had improved. Now I take it all back, for Idon't think you half so nice as when I left you at home. Youhave grown abominably lazy, you like gossip, and waste time onfrivolous things, you are contented to be petted and admiredby silly people, instead of being loved and respected by wiseones. With money, talent, position, health, and beauty, ahyou like that old Vanity! But it's the truth, so I can't helpsaying it, with all these splendid things to use and enjoy, youcan find nothing to do but dawdle, and instead of being the manyou ought to be, you are only . . ." there she stopped, witha look that had both pain and pity in it.

"Saint Laurence on a gridiron," added Laurie, blandlyfinishing the sentence. But the lecture began to take effect,for there was a wide-awake sparkle in his eyes now and ahalf-angry, half-injured expression replaced the former indifference.

"I supposed you'd take it so. You men tell us we areangels, and say we can make you what we will, but the instantwe honestly try to do you good, you laugh at us and won'tlisten, which proves how much your flattery is worth." Amyspoke bitterly, and turned her back on the exasperatingmartyr at her feet.

In a minute a hand came down over the page, so that shecould not draw, and Laurie's voice said, with a droll imitationof a penitent child, "I will be good, oh, I will be good!"

But Amy did not laugh, for she was in earnest, and tappingon the outspread hand with her pencil, said soberly, "Aren'tyou ashamed of a hand like that? It's as soft and white as awoman's, and looks as if it never did anything but wear Jouvin'sbest gloves and pick flowers for ladies. You are not a dandy,thank Heaven, so I'm glad to see there are no diamonds or bigseal rings on it, only the little old one Jo gave you so longago. Dear soul, I wish she was here to help me!"

"So do I!"

The hand vanished as suddenly as it came, and there wasenergy enough in the echo of her wish to suit even Amy. Sheglanced down at him with a new thought in her mind, but hewas lying with his hat half over his face, as if for shade, andhis mustache hid his mouth. She only saw his chest rise andfall, with a long breath that might have been a sigh, and thehand that wore the ring nestled down into the grass, as if tohide something too precious or too tender to be spoken of.All in a minute various hints and trifles assumed shape andsignificance in Amy's mind, and told her what her sister neverhad confided to her. She remembered that Laurie never spokevoluntarily of Jo, she recalled the shadow on his face justnow, the change in his character, and the wearing of the littleold ring which was no ornament to a handsome hand. Girls arequick to read such signs and feel their eloquence. Amy hadfancied that perhaps a love trouble was at the bottom of thealteration, and now she was sure of it. Her keen eyes filled,and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that could bebeautifully soft and kind when she chose to make it so.

"I know I have no right to talk so to you, Laurie, and ifyou weren't the sweetest-tempered fellow in the world, you'd bevery angry with me. But we are all so fond and proud of you,I couldn't bear to think they should be disappointed in you athome as I have been, though, perhaps they would understandthe change better than I do."

"I think they would," came from under the hat, in a grimtone, quite as touching as a broken one.

"They ought to have told me, and not let me go blunderingand scolding, when I should have been more kind and patientthan ever. I never did like that Miss Randal and now I hateher!" said artful Amy, wishing to be sure of her facts this time.

"Hang Miss Randal!" and Laurie knocked the hat off hisface with a look that left no doubt of his sentiments towardthat young lady.

"I beg pardon, I thought . . ." and there she pauseddiplomatically.

"No, you didn't, you knew perfectly well I never cared foranyone but Jo," Laurie said that in his old, impetuous tone,and turned his face away as he spoke.

"I did think so, but as they never said anything about it,and you came away, I supposed I was mistaken. And Jo wouldn'tbe kind to you? Why, I was sure she loved you dearly."

"She was kind, but not in the right way, and it's lucky forher she didn't love me, if I'm the good-for-nothing fellow youthink me. It's her fault though, and you may tell her so."

The hard, bitter look came back again as he said that, andit troubled Amy, for she did not know what balm to apply.

"I was wrong, I didn't know. I'm very sorry I was so cross,but I can't help wishing you'd bear it better, Teddy, dear."

"Don't, that's her name for me!" and Laurie put up hishand with a quick gesture to stop the words spoken in Jo'shalf-kind, half-reproachful tone. "Wait till you've tried ityourself," he added in a low voice, as he pulled up the grassby the handful.

"I'd take it manfully, and be respected if I couldn't beloved," said Amy, with the decision of one who knew nothingabout it.

Now, Laurie flattered himself that he had borne it remarkablywell, making no moan, asking no sympathy, and taking histrouble away to live it down alone. Amy's lecture put thematter in a new light, and for the first time it did lookweak and selfish to lose heart at the first failure, and shuthimself up in moody indifference. He felt as if suddenlyshaken out of a pensive dream and found it impossible to goto sleep again. Presently he sat up and asked slowly, "Doyou think Jo would despise me as you do?"

"Yes, if she saw you now. She hates lazy people. Why don'tyou do something splendid, and make her love you?"

"I did my best, but it was no use."

"Graduating well, you mean? That was no more than youought to have done, for your grandfather's sake. It wouldhave been shameful to fail after spending so much time andmoney, when everyone knew that you could do well."

"I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me,"began Laurie, leaning his head on his hand in a despondentattitude.

"No, you didn't, and you'll say so in the end, for it didyou good, and proved that you could do something if you tried.If you'd only set about another task of some sort, you'd soonbe your hearty, happy self again, and forget your trouble."

"That's impossible."

"Try it and see. You needn't shrug your shoulders, andthink, 'Much she knows about such things'. I don't pretendto be wise, but I am observing, and I see a great deal morethan you'd imagine. I'm interested in other people's experiencesand inconsistencies, and though I can't explain, I rememberand use them for my own benefit. Love Jo all your days,if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wickedto throw away so many good gifts because you can't have theone you want. There, I won't lecture any more, for I knowyou'll wake up and be a man in spite of that hardhearted girl."

Neither spoke for several minutes. Laurie sat turningthe little ring on his finger, and Amy put the last touches tothe hasty sketch she had been working at while she talked.Presently she put it on his knee, merely saying, "How do youlike that?"

He looked and then he smiled, as he could not well helpdoing, for it was capitally done, the long, lazy figure on thegrass, with listless face, half-shut eyes, and one hand holdinga cigar, from which came the little wreath of smoke that encircledthe dreamer's head.

"How well you draw!" he said, with a genuine surpriseand pleasure at her skill, adding, with a half-laugh,"Yes, that's me."

"As you are. This is as you were." and Amy laid anothersketch beside the one he held.

"Don't you remember the day you played Rarey with Puck,and we all looked on? Meg and Beth were frightened, but Joclapped and pranced, and I sat on the fence and drew you. Ifound that sketch in my portfolio the other day, touched itup, and kept it to show you."

"Much obliged. You've improved immensely since then,and I congratulate you. May I venture to suggest in 'ahoneymoon paradise' that five o'clock is the dinner hour atyour hotel?"

Laurie rose as he spoke, returned the pictures with a smileand a bow and looked at his watch, as if to remind her thateven moral lectures should have an end. He tried to resume hisformer easy, indifferent air, but it was an affectation now, forthe rousing had been more effacious than he would confess. Amyfelt the shade of coldness in his manner, and said to herself . . .

"Now, I've offended him. Well, if it does him good, I'mglad, if it makes him hate me, I'm sorry, but it's true, andI can't take back a word of it."

They laughed and chatted all the way home, and littleBaptiste, up behind, thought that monsieur and madamoisellewere in charming spirits. But both felt ill at ease. Thefriendly frankness was disturbed, the sunshine had a shadowover it, and despite their apparent gaiety, there was a secretdiscontent in the heart of each.

"Shall we see you this evening, mon frere?" asked Amy, asthey parted at her aunt's door.

"Unfortunately I have an engagement. Au revoir, madamoiselle,"and Laurie bent as if to kiss her hand, in the foreign fashion,which became him better than many men. Something in his facemade Amy say quickly and warmly . . .

"No, be yourself with me, Laurie, and part in the good old way.I'd rather have a hearty English handshake than all thesentimental salutations in France."

"Goodbye, dear," and with these words, uttered in the tone she liked,Laurie left her, after a handshake almost painful in its heartiness.

Next morning, instead of the usual call, Amy received anote which made her smile at the beginning and sigh at the end.

My Dear Mentor,Please make my adieux to your aunt, and exult withinyourself, for 'Lazy Laurence' has gone to his grandpa, likethe best of boys. A pleasant winter to you, and may the godsgrant you a blissful honeymoon at Valrosa! I think Fredwould be benefited by a rouser. Tell him so, with my congratulations.

Yours gratefully, Telemachus

"Good boy! I'm glad he's gone," said Amy, with an approving smile.The next minute her face fell as she glanced about the empty room,adding, with an involuntary sigh, "Yes, I am glad, but how I shallmiss him."