Under the Big Dipper

only her dear father were with her—how different things would be! She pictured his meeting with the fat Dowager and almost laughed aloud. How exquisitely polite he would be and yet how finely independent! She could almost see the twinkle in his eyes at the air these princelets gave themselves. She hoped it would not be long before he would come and take her away from these Arctic regions to a quiet and sunny retreat where they could be alone together in freedom and happiness. When would he come? Her eyes fell on a little side-table on which stood a Dresden vase with a cluster of roses in it. Ah, and Mr. Morton, would she ever meet him again? They were the roses he had sent her, full-blown and withering now, the flowers hanging on wilted stalks in spite of the care Josephine had bestowed on them.

It was late in the afternoon and the fading light of the short autumn day spread a gloom through the room. She rose and switched on the electric lights of the

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