she had stood a minute staring hard at the old glove on Psyche's head; then, like one who had suddenly got a bright idea, she gave a decided nod and walked slowly out of the room.
CHAPTER VI.
POLISHING MAC.
"PLEASE could I say one word?" was the question three times repeated before a rough head bobbed out from the grotto of books in which Mac usually sat when he studied.
"Did any one speak?" he asked, blinking in the flood of sunshine that entered with Rose.
"Only three times, thank you. Don't disturb yourself, I beg; for I merely want to say a word," answered Rose, as she prevented him from offering the easy-chair in which he sat.
"I was rather deep in a compound fracture, and didn't hear. What can I do for you, cousin?" and Mac shoved a stack of pamphlets off the chair near him, with a hospitable wave of the hand that sent his papers flying in all directions.
Rose sat down, but did not seem to find her "word" an easy one to utter; for she twisted her handkerchief
