A Modern Tomboy: A Story for Girls

AN INVITATION.

If any girl failed to enjoy herself on the following Saturday at Dartford, she had certainly only herself to blame. As a matter of fact, the whole seven, without exception, had a right good time. Even Lucy forgot her jealousies, and even Rosamund forgot her anger. They were so much interested in Mrs. Brett and her husband, in the things they did, and the things they could tell, and the things they could show, and the whole manner of their lives, that they forgot themselves.

Now, to forget yourself is the very road to bliss. Many people take a long time finding out that most simple secret. When they do find it out and act on it they invariably live a life of great happiness and equanimity, and are a great blessing to other people. Lucy and Rosamund were far—very far—from such a desirable goal, but for a few hours they did act upon this simple and noble idea of life, and in consequence were happy.

But Saturday at the Bretts', with all its bliss, came to an end, and the girls returned to beautiful Sunnyside and to the life of the new and rather strangely managed school.

Sunday was a long and dreary day, at least in Rosamund's eyes, and but for an incident which occurred immediately after morning service, she scarcely knew how she could have got through it.

Mr. Merriman had a pew at one end of the church, which had belonged to his people for generations, and which was not altered when the rest of the church was restored. It was large enough now to hold his wife and himself and the seven girls; but the two teachers were accommodated in another part of the church. Rosamund found herself during the service seated next to Mr. Merriman. It was the first time she had really closely observed him, and she now noticed several peculiarities which interested her a good deal. He had a dignified and very noble presence. He was tall, with broad shoulders, had an aquiline nose, very piercing dark eyes, black hair, which he wore somewhat long, and an olive-tinted face.

Lucy did not in the least resemble her father, but took more after her mother, who was round and fat, and proportionately commonplace. Rosamund at first felt no degree of elation when her place was pointed out to her next to the Professor. But suddenly encountering Lucy's angry eyes, she began to take a naughty comfort to herself in her unexpected proximity. She drew a little closer to him on purpose to annoy Lucy; and then, when she found that he was short-sighted and could not find his places, she found them for him, thus adding to poor Lucy's torment; for this had once been Lucy's own seat, and she herself had seen to her father's comforts. From attending on him, Rosamund began to watch him, and then she found a good deal of food for meditation. In short, it is to be feared that she did not follow the service as she ought to have done. For the matter of that, neither did Lucy.

The Rectory near Sunnyside was occupied by a clergyman who had several young daughters. These girls were very prepossessing in appearance. Their father was a widower, their mother having died some years ago. There were six girls, and as they trooped up the aisle, two by two, they attracted Rosamund's attention. They were dressed very simply in different shades of green. The two eldest had the darkest tone of color, both in their hats and their quiet little costumes. The two next had one shade lighter and the two youngest one shade lighter again. They looked something like leaves as they went up the church, and they all had one special characteristic—a great wealth of golden-brown hair, which hung far down their backs. The two eldest girls must have varied in age between fourteen and twelve, the two next between ten and eight, and the little ones between seven and five. They had quiet, neatly cut features, and serene eyes. They walked up the church very sedately, and took their places in the Rectory pew. Rosamund longed to ask a thousand questions about them. They were so much more interesting than the girls who were staying at Sunnyside; they were so fresh, and their dress so out of the common.

A somewhat prim and very neatly dressed governess followed the six girls up the aisle and took her place at the end of the pew. But Rosamund could still see from where she sat the heads with the six green hats and the wealth of fair hair hanging below. She was full of interest, and altogether her thoughts were occupied first by the Professor and then with her neighbors.

By-and-by the rustle of a very rich silk caused her to turn her attention again to the outside world, and she observed a lady of about forty-five years of age, richly dressed in deep mourning, with a good deal of crape and a widow's bonnet, walking up the church. This lady entered a pew which she occupied all alone.

Then the choir, the rector, and the curate appeared, and the service began. It began, went on, and finished. Just as it came to a conclusion, Mrs. Merriman, bending towards Rosamund, said, "We will wait, if you please, until the rest of the congregation have dispersed. I am anxious to see Mr. Singleton, to ask him a question."

Rosamund wondered who Mr. Singleton was. But she was only too anxious to see her neighbors leaving the church, and was pleased at the idea of waiting.

The congregation filed down the centre aisle one by one, in orderly fashion, and the six little girls in their green costumes and their fair hair disappeared from view. The elderly governess primly followed, and then the lady in black silk also left her pew. But as she did so she paused and said something to the verger, who was in the aisle. Rosamund, whose eyes were fixed on her, noticed that the verger pointed to the pew in which she herself was sitting, and a minute later the lady came to the door of the pew and said something in a very low voice to Mrs. Merriman.

To Rosamund's amazement, Mrs. Merriman stretched out her hand across the pew and took one of hers.

"My dear, Lady Jane Ashleigh, an old friend of your mother's, wishes to see you. Will you go very quietly out, talk to her for a minute or two outside the church, and then wait for us in the porch?"

Rosamund obeyed, filled with the keenest interest. Lady Jane walked on in front, and Rosamund followed. They both entered the porch, whereupon the widow turned, grasped one of Rosamund's hands, and said, "If it were not church-time I should long to kiss you. I was a very, very great friend of your mother's. She wrote to me two days ago to say that you were coming to live here. I intended to call yesterday, but was prevented. I came to church to-day hoping to make your acquaintance. When will you come and see me? Can you come this afternoon?"

"Oh, indeed I can!" said Rosamund. "I remember mother quite well telling me about you. Your name used to be Lady Jane Stanisford, was it not?"

"Quite right, my dear. Oh, what a look you have of your mother! You must come and spend the rest of the day with me. You can come now; you can come in my carriage."

"Oh! I ought not to, for the others will be waiting for me."

"I will wait with you here. But no; I must hurry home at once. Then come this afternoon, and bring any one of your school friends that you like. I shall be glad to see you and to talk over old times. Dear Mrs. Merriman, she is a great friend of mine. Give her my love, and a message that you are to come and have tea with me, and supper, too. I will send you back to Sunnyside in my carriage late this evening. Good-bye for the present, dear."

It was a very beaming face that greeted Lucy and the rest of the party when, accompanied by Mr. Singleton (the father of the fair-haired girls, and the rector of the parish), they all appeared in the church porch. Lucy went straight up to Rosamund.

"What in the world are you smiling at?" she said. "You look as though you were thinking of something extremely funny; and it makes your face look so strange, not at all like the face of a person who has just been in church."

"Will you introduce me, Miss Lucy, to this young lady?" said Mr. Singleton's pleasant voice.

Lucy was obliged to comply. She muttered the introduction in a somewhat surly tone; but Mr. Singleton was by no means proof against Rosamund's bright and clever face, her smile, which was now quite charming, and her animated manner.

"You must come and spend a day with my little girls—that is, when you can obtain leave," he said.—"Ah, Mrs. Merriman! it will be very unlike you to be over strict with your young people. They must all come to the Rectory. When is your next half-holiday?"

"You must ask Miss Archer," said Mrs. Merriman.

Miss Archer replied that Wednesdays and Saturdays would be half-holidays, and Mr. Singleton clinched the invitation by asking the party to the Rectory for the following Wednesday.

On their way home Rosamund left Lucy's side, with whom she had been walking, and ran up to Mrs. Merriman.

"Lady Jane Ashleigh is a friend of mother's, and she has asked me to go to her after lunch to spend the rest of the day with her. May I go?"

"Not on Sundays, dear. We never allow our young people to pay visits on Sundays," said the professor, just turning his head and glancing kindly at Rosamund.

The smile vanished from her countenance. She colored high with annoyance.

"But I promised her I would go, and she is an old friend of mother's, and please may I go on this occasion?"

"I make a rule which cannot be broken, that no girls accept invitations for Sunday. That is the end of the matter."

He turned to speak to his wife, without giving Rosamund any further thought. He was feeling ill that day—worse than usual—and he did not notice the consternation, rage, and also determination which filled Rosamund's face. Lucy had not heard her words, but she exclaimed eagerly when the girl returned to her place among her school-fellows, "Well, what is it? What did Lady Jane say to you?"

"Oh, nothing—nothing particular."

"But you did seem so eager and pleased. You don't look at all pleased now."

"She said nothing in particular, really. How nice that field looks, with all that grass growing up so green after the haymaking."

"Oh, don't talk platitudes," said Lucy. She watched Rosamund narrowly.

By-and-by they reached the house. Rosamund went straight up to her own room. There such a wave of passion, anger, and revolt swept over her that she scarcely knew herself.

"I will go. I won't obey. Mother wrote to her about me. She is mother's friend. I will slip off and spend the day with her, and take the consequences, whatever they may be. I cannot stand those girls, and she is delightful! I win go to her, come what may."

Jane Denton did not understand Rosamund as she brushed her long hair and tidied herself for the early dinner.

VISIT TO LADY JANE.

Rosamund made herself altogether charming during the ensuing meal. She was so clever that even Lucy's watchful eyes could detect nothing unusual about her. The professor was charmed with her intelligent remarks, her interest in the architecture of the very old church where they had just enjoyed the service, and her eagerness to acquire a more profound knowledge of church architecture in general. This was one of his own special hobbies, and he promised to lend Rosamund books on the subject, and even invited her to go into his library in the course of the afternoon to look at some illustrations which he thought would interest her.

"But I like to spend Sunday quietly and alone," said Rosamund, raising innocent eyes to the professor's face. "Will it matter if I come to see your illustrations and your books to-morrow?"

He gave her a paternal glance of almost affection.

"You shall certainly spend your Sunday as you like best, my dear," he said. "For my part, I love to see spirited and happy girls like yourself devoting themselves to periods of thought and meditation. In no other possible way can they attain to true knowledge of what Sunday means."

Jane Denton looked at her friend in some astonishment, but Rosamund calmly returned her gaze.

When the meal came to an end the girls scattered here and there, and Jane ran up to Rosamund to know what she meant to do.

"To stay quietly by myself," was Rosamund's answer, "so for goodness' sake don't interfere with me, Janey. I am going to my room, to begin with. I want to have a good long think, and——But don't question me, and keep the others away—won't you?—there's a dear."

Jane promised readily enough, and Rosamund went to her room. There from her window she watched the whole party disappearing in different directions: some to the neighboring woods, three girls together to the bank of the river, others with books into hammocks or cosy seats in the pretty garden. The two teachers had gone for a walk some miles into the country. The professor was in his study, where Mrs. Merriman kept him company.

"Now is my time," thought Rosamund.

She changed her dress for one of the prettiest she possessed—a pale-blue muslin, beautifully made. She put on a large, black, shady hat, and catching up her gloves and parasol, started on foot to Lady Jane's place. She had not an idea where to go, but trusted to find the way by making inquiries. Once she was safe out of the neighborhood of those odious girls, as she was pleased to call them, she thought all would be easy enough. She soon reached the high-road, which was far more dusty than she had anticipated, and did not suit her pretty patent-leather shoes.

Presently she met a girl on her way to Sunday-school in the village, and asked her the direct road to Lady Jane Ashleigh's.

"Oh, my!" was the girl's response; "won't you find Miss Irene in a tantrum this afternoon! Do you mean to say you are going there? And on Sunday, too!"

"Yes," said Rosamund, forgiving the girl's apparent impertinence on account of the interest which her remarks aroused. "But who is Miss Irene?"

"Lady Jane's daughter, bless you! Why, I live there as kitchen-maid, and I tell you the tantrums of that young lady is enough to upset the nerves of the stoutest person. I have come out now, and glad I am to be away. You are a strange young lady, I take it, from your appearance. You had best not go there if you want rest."

"But I am going there," was Rosamund's reply, "so please tell me how; and what is the name of Lady Jane's place, for she did not tell me?"

"Why, anybody here must know The Follies, and the place is true to its name as place can be. Oh, Lady Jane is well enough, but it is Miss Irene. Well, I wish you luck. You walk straight down this road for a mile or so, and turn in at the first gates you come to, and there you will be; and I 'opes you'll enjoy yourself."

The girl dropped a somewhat impertinent curtsy and marched on her way.

Rosamund also went on, feeling more interested and pleased than ever.

"Irene—what a pretty name!" she said to herself. "And from all accounts she seems to be what old people would call a difficult young person, and to young people she is doubtless delightful. Anyhow, I expect I shall have some fun; and as my absence is certain to be found out, and I am certain to get into a row when I go back to the horrid Merrimans', I may as well enjoy myself while I can."

So she hurried her footsteps, and presently found that the kitchen-maid at The Follies had given her correct instructions. There, directly before her, were massive gates leading into the winding avenue, sheltered by tall trees, beech and elm. The place looked cool and soothing. Oh, what a contrast it made to the hot and dusty road over which Rosamund had traveled! When she found herself inside she stepped on the grass in order to get some of the dust off her pretty patent shoes. She shook out her pale-blue muslin dress, arranged her hat becomingly, and went up the drive, looking as dainty and as unlike an-ordinary English school-girl as girl could look. She knew, the value of appearances, and was determined to make the best of them. Of course, her mother had told her much of Lady Jane. Lady Jane was her mother's greatest friend when they were both girls together; and when she had married a certain Mr. Ashleigh, a man of great wealth, although their acquaintance had very much dropped into the background, yet still the stories about the beautiful and willful Lady Jane had delighted Rosamund when she was a little girl herself. Now, it seemed that Lady Jane was blessed with a daughter, and as naughty as she must have been in her own early days. This made matters exceedingly interesting to Rosamund.

She reached the front door and rang the ponderous iron bell which hung from a chain by the side of a Gothic column, and a man-servant in livery, with powdered hair, appeared in reply to her summons.

"Is Lady Jane Ashleigh within?"

"Yes, madam," he replied respectfully, and he motioned Rosamund into a large, cool hall, beautifully furnished with all sorts of antique specimens of oak and Sheraton furniture. From here he took her into a little room rendered beautifully cool by green silk blinds, which were partly let down at the windows, one of which was altogether open and looked out on a flower-garden partly sheltered by trees. Here Rosamund saw, just for a brief moment, a girl in red, swinging backward and forward idly in a swing suspended from two stalwart boughs. The girl had somewhat wild eyes, a very bright face, and a mischievous expression round her lips. When she saw Rosamund she leaped from the swing, and disappeared from view, and the next moment Lady Jane sailed into the room. The contrast between the girl in red and the lady in deep mourning who now appeared puzzled the girl a good deal; also the extreme calm and graciousness of Lady Jane's bearing, the absence of all that wildness in the eyes which Rosamund's own mother had explained so fully. In short, the graciousness of a perfectly balanced nature seemed to surround this charming woman. She thanked Rosamund for coming, and sitting down near her, proceeded to question her with regard to her mother.

"It is years since we met," she said, "but I have never forgotten her. She was my favorite school-fellow. Our paths in life led very much apart afterward, for I married my dearly beloved husband and lived in the country, whereas she traveled a good deal over the world. But still we did contrive to correspond from time to time, although we have not met, I verily believe, since your birth, Rosamund. How old are you, my dear?"

"I was fifteen my last birthday," replied Rosamund.

"In some ways you look older than that."

"I am glad," said Rosamund, her eyes brightening. "I want to be grown-up," she continued. "I want to have done with school."

"Why did your mother think of sending you to Mrs. Merriman's?"

"Oh, there were a lot of reasons. Jane Denton, who is my greatest friend—although I don't know why I am so fond of her—was coming here, and her mother knew Mrs. Merriman, and mother hates ordinary schools, and she thought this would just do. And then all of a sudden she remembered that you lived near, although she did not say anything to me about that, or you may be sure I should have been quite interested. I am so glad to see you, Lady Jane! And, please, when am I to be introduced to Irene?"

Rosamund was sorry the moment she had said these words, for over Lady Jane's face there passed an expression of absolute pain. After a moment's pause, she said, "Who has told you about my little daughter?"

"Does it pain you for me to speak about her?"

"Answer my question, dear. Who has told you?"

"I think it might have been your kitchen-maid. I will explain to you the very truth, Lady Jane. You know you asked me to come here to-day, and you said you would send me back to-night, and I was so pleased; but when I spoke about it to Mr. Merriman, he said at once that he did not allow girls to visit friends on Sunday, and that that was one of his strictest rules."

"And yet you came?" said Lady Jane, her eyes darkening.

"Yes, I came," replied Rosamund, "for I simply couldn't stand it. Why should I be coerced and told that things were wrong by a man like Mr. Merriman?"

"A great scholar and a noble gentleman," said Lady Jane quietly.

Rosamund felt herself coloring, and a sense of annoyance swept over her.

"Well, anyhow, I came," she said; "and I suppose you are not going to send me back now that I have braved the displeasure of every one to come to you?"

"I will drive you back myself after we have had tea together; and you must come and spend a week day with me. It was wrong to come, dear, and it was a pity. When you get to know Mr. Merriman well you will understand that when he says a thing he means it. I will try and intercede for you on this occasion. I myself do not think it at all wrong that you should come and minister to the wants of a lonely woman on Sunday. I noticed your bright face in church; and although you are not very like your mother, you have got something of her expression, and many of the tones of her voice, and it gives me pleasure to converse with you."

"But why should you be lonely when you have got"——

Just at that moment there was a noise outside, followed by a fierce scuffle and the banging about of furniture, and the room door was opened, and the girl whom Rosamund had seen swinging at the other end of the sunlit lawn appeared on the scene. She was one of the most beautiful girls Rosamund, who thought herself very good-looking, had ever beheld in her life, but her eyes were wild and almost unsteady. Her laugh was harsh and her voice unpleasant.

"Irene," said Lady Jane, turning pale, "what is the matter with you? Won't you behave?"

The girl gave a laugh, flung herself into a chair, then drew herself a little closer, and stared full at Rosamund.

"Never mind mother," she said. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rosamund Cunliffe," was Rosamund's reply.

She spoke steadily. There was a certain calm about her voice which seemed to exercise a beneficent influence over the queer girl.

"And my name is Irene Ashleigh. Won't you come out, and I'll swing you? You'd like to have a good swing this hot day, wouldn't you?"

"If you will promise, Irene, to be very careful," began Lady Jane; but Irene's only reply to this was to jump up as suddenly as she had seated herself, take Rosamund's hand, and pull her through the open French window.

"Never mind mother," she said again. "She is nothing but an old croak. There's a bit of spirit about you. Oh! they all tell stories about me; but I'm not half bad, only I think I'm a changeling. Did you ever think you were a changeling?"

"Of course not. I don't know what you mean."

"I'll explain to you. I quite like your look. May I put my arm round your waist?"

"If it pleases you," said Rosamund.

"How stiffly you speak! But I like you all the same. You are what might be called a good old sort, and there's nothing prim about you. Do you know why I came into the room just now?"

"I'm sure I cannot tell."

"Well, I'll let you know. I was listening at one of the windows, and I heard you tell mother—dear old puritanical mother—that you had crept away without leave from the learned professor, and had got into difficulties. Oh, didn't I just love you for it! There's a Miss Frost here who tries to teach me; but, bless you! she can't knock much learning into me. She is as terrified of me as she can be, is old Frosty. She and I had a squabble in the passage; she said I was not to come in because I had my red dress on. You know, it's only a year since father died, and mother is in deep mourning still; but I will wear red—it is my sort of mourning. I suppose we can all do as we please. Well, when I discovered that you were one of the naughty sort, I thought I'd have a nearer view of you, and I like you very much. You are pretty, you know, quite pretty. Not so pretty as I am! Now, look me full in the face. Did you ever see any one prettier?"

"Irene, you do talk in a wild way!"

"It is rather cheeky of you to call me Irene; but I don't much mind. I like you to be cheeky. Well, here's the swing. How high up do you want me to push you?"

"Not any way at all just at present. Let us walk about and talk before you swing me. I must know something about you. How old are you?"

"I'm sure I don't know—I've forgotten. Oh, by the way, you didn't understand me when I said I was a changeling."

"I didn't, and I don't. But why do you talk in that silly way?"

"Well, I seriously think I am, for if you had seen father when he was alive you'd have said if there was a dear—I was very fond of dad—if there was a dear, sober, conscientious old man—he was a good bit older than mother—you'd have pronounced that he was he."

"That is very funny English, Irene."

"Oh, never mind! I like to talk in a funny way. Anyhow, you'd have said that he was he. And then there is mother. You see how good she looks. She is very handsome, I know, and every one adores her, and so does her loving daughter Irene; but, all the same, I was made in a sort of fashion that I really cannot keep indoors. No rain that ever was heard of could keep me in, and no frost, either. And I have lain sometimes on the snow for an hour at a time and enjoyed it. And there's scarcely a night that I spend in bed. I get out, whatever poor old Frosty may do to keep me within bounds. I can climb up anything, and I can climb down anything, and I like to have a boat on the lake; and when they are very bad to me I spend the night there in the very centre of the lake, and they can't get at me, shout as they may. No, I never take cold."

"The only thing I am keen about is to be allowed to wear colors that I like. I love gay colors—red one day, yellow the next, the brightest blue the next I hate art shades. I am not a bit æsthetic. Once they took me to London, but I ran away home. Oh, what a time I had! I am a wild sort of thing. Now, do you suppose that any mother, of her own free-will, would have a daughter like me? Of course I am a changeling. I suppose I belong to the fairies, and my greatest wish on earth is to see them some day. Sometimes I think they will meet me in the meadows or in the forest, which is two miles away, or even in the lake, for I suppose fairies can swim. But they have never come yet. If they came I'd ask them to let me go back to them, for I do so hate indoor life and civilization and refinement. And now you see the sort I am, and if you are the sort I somehow think you are, why shouldn't we be friends? Perhaps you are a changeling, too. You know that dress doesn't suit you one bit; it is too grand and fine-ladyish; and you ought to let your hair stream down your back instead of having it tied behind with that ribbon. And you ought to have a hole in your hat instead of that grand black feather. And—oh, good gracious!—what funny boots! I never saw anything like them—all shiny, and with such pointed toes. How can you walk in them? I as often as not go barefoot all day long; but then I am a wild thing, a changeling, and I suppose, after all, you are not."

Rosamund felt herself quite interested while Irene was delivering herself of this wild harangue. She looked back at this moment, and saw Lady Jane standing in the French window. Irene's arm was still firmly clasped round Rosamund's waist. Rosamund could just catch a glimpse of the expression of Lady Jane's face, and it seemed to signify relief and approval. Rosamund said to herself, "We all have our missions in life; perhaps mine is to reclaim this wild, extraordinary creature. I shouldn't a bit mind trying. Of course, I don't approve of her; but she is lovely. She has a perfect little face, and she is just like any savage, quite untrained—a sort of free lance, in fact. Irene," she said aloud, "I am not going to let you swing me just now; but you may sit near me, and I will tell you something which may alter your views about your being a changeling."

"What do you mean by that?" said Irene, and she looked doubtful. "I cannot sit long," she continued. "Be as quick as ever you can."

"Yes, I will, and afterward"——

"Afterward I will go into the house and get Frosty to give us tea, and we will take it in the boat together. We will get into the very middle of the stream, where no human being can call us back, and we will have a right good time."

"Will you ask your mother's leave first?"

"Indeed I won't. I never ask her leave. I never ask any one's leave. I never trouble mother much, because she cries so badly when I vex her; but I don't mind how hard Frosty cries. Frosty is terribly afraid of me, but she has stayed with me longer than any other governess. They mostly go at the end of a week or a fortnight; but Frosty has been with me for close on four months. She is very worried. She was quite fat when she came, and now she is a sort of walking skeleton, and it is all owing to me, because I do work her so hard and terrify her so; and she can't teach me anything, however hard she tries. I tell you I'm a changeling, and changelings can't be taught. She told me the other night that she believed me. She looked as white as a sheet when she said the words, and I did laugh so, and clapped my hands. I woke mother, and mother came into the room; and Frosty told mother what I had said, and poor mother cried. I said, 'Never mind, mother. I am fond of you, but I like frightening Frosty.'

"Then Frosty went away to her own room, and I thought, of course, she would give notice the next day, but she didn't. She is very poor, and has to earn her own bread somehow. I expect that is why she stays."

"Well," said Rosamund stoutly, "I will say this, Irene, that you are—whether changeling or not—an exceedingly naughty girl. There, now!"

Irene opened those deep sapphire-blue eyes, which were one of her greatest charms, to their fullest extent; her little mouth pouted, and some pearly teeth showed beneath. She clinched her small hands, and then said stoutly, "Hurrah! I admire your courage. They never dare tell me I am naughty. I rule the house; they are all quite terrified of me."

"Well, I am not a scrap afraid of you," said Rosamund.

"Aren't you? What a relief! Well, come on; I can't sit still any longer. I have got to order our tea to be sent to the boat, and we will get into mid-stream and keep all the world at bay. Can't you tell me there what you wanted to say?"

"No; I will tell you now, and I am not at all sure that I am going in the boat with you, for Lady Jane said I had done wrong to come here; and if I did wrong to come, I suppose I must try and do right, for I can't talk of your faults while I have such a lot of my own."

"Oh, hurrah! You are nicer than ever. I am glad you are full of faults too. Do say why you think I am not a changeling."

"Because my mother told me that long ago your mother was rather naughty, although she is so good now. So I think, perhaps, when you are her age you will be good too."

"Oh, horror! Heaven preserve us!" cried Irene. "That is the final straw. Ever to sink into the apathy of my beloved mother would be beyond endurance. But there, I am off to Frosty, and you will have to come into the boat with me."

Irene flew fleet as the wind from Rosamund's side. Notwithstanding her exceedingly ugly red dress, its shortness, its uncouth make, she ran as gracefully as a young fawn. Soon she had disappeared round the corner, and as soon as she had done so Lady Jane was seen tripping across the grass. She motioned Rosamund to her side.

"She took to you," she said. "She seems to like you. Are you going to be good to her?" said the lady, her lips trembling as she spoke.

"If I can. Oh, I know she is very naughty; but she is so beautiful!" said Rosamund, with sudden enthusiasm, her own pretty dark eyes filling with tears.

"You are a sweet girl!" said Lady Jane. "Perhaps God has sent you here to effect the means of reform. Only sometimes I fear——But here she comes. She must not see me talking to you. If she thought that we were in league all would be lost."

Before Rosamund could reply, or even ask Lady Jane if she might go into the boat with Irene, that young lady had darted to her side.

"Now, what were you saying to the Mumsy-pums? I don't allow any one to talk in a confidential way to my Mumsy-pums except myself. Now, I was just watching you, and you kept nodding your head all the time. What were you saying? I know you were talking about me. What was the dear Pums saying with regard to her changeling? Was she running me down—eh?"

"No, nothing of the sort," said Rosamund stoutly.

"Then I know," said Irene, knitting her black eyebrows till they almost met in her anxiety to express herself clearly; "she was telling you to have a good influence over me. She always begins like that with the new governesses. She has an interview with them the morning after they arrive. They are generally by that time reduced to a state of pulp, and she has them, as she thinks, alone. But I generally contrive to listen. I am a great eavesdropper. Oh, I am not a bit ashamed of it—not a bit—so you needn't begin to preach. She tells them to try and reform me. She says money is no object if only I can be reformed. As though a changeling could be reformed! She has been asking you to reform me, hasn't she? I know her little ways, dear, good old Mumsy-pums. But she can't reform a changeling. Now the boat is ready, and Betty is toiling for dear life with our tea-tray. I darted into the kitchen, where she was having a Sunday doze. I sprang upon her back, and she gave such a shriek as though something awful had happened; and I said, 'Tea in a twinkling, or I'll dress up and frighten you when you are in bed to-night.' Oh, didn't she hop round as though she were walking on red-hot irons! And there she is now, panting down the path with our tea. Come along, Rosamund."

"But I don't think I must. I ought not to come," said Rosamund.

She was tempted, fascinated. To feel conscious that she was not one scrap afraid of this queer girl, to feel conscious also that the girl herself, notwithstanding her extreme naughtiness, could in the end be managed by her, brought such a rush of interest into her life that she forgot everything else for the moment; and, besides, Irene was exceedingly strong, and although she was much slimmer and not so tall as Rosamund, she dragged her down the path with a power that it was almost impossible to resist.

"That will do, Betty. I won't frighten you to-night by dressing up and making my eyes fiery," said Irene as the cook appeared with the tea.

"Oh, bless me, miss!" replied the cook, "for heaven's sake keep out of my bedroom. If you will only give me back my key and let me lock my door I wouldn't have such dreadful nightmares. I wish you would, Miss Irene."

"I give you back your key?" said Irene. "I'd have no fun if I hadn't power over you. There, that will do. You may sleep sound to-night. I always keep my word."

The cook departed, red and panting. She was as much afraid of Irene as any of the other servants. But the place was a good one, the wages exceedingly liberal, and Lady Jane the kindest and most patient of mistresses. In short, many of the servants stayed for her sake, notwithstanding the life of terror which naughty Irene gave them.

The little boat, painted sky-blue and tipped with white, was now pulled out of the boat-house. Irene put in the basket of provisions, and a moment later she and Rosamund were skimming across the smooth bosom of the lake. It was quite a big lake, being a quarter of a mile across and half a mile long, and in the centre was a rapid current which was considered, and really was in times of storm, somewhat dangerous. For this current Irene made, and when they got there she suddenly rested on her oars, and looking at Rosamund, said, "Are you afraid, or are you not? If the current gets a little stronger we will be drifted to the edge of the lake, and at the edge of the lake there is a waterfall, and over it we will go, and, splash! splash! splash! I took a girl there once; she was my governess, but I was quite tired of her, and knew the fright she would get in when I took her out in the boat. I never take those who are dead sick with fright; but I took her, and she was nearly drowned—not quite, for I can swim in almost any water, and I held her up and brought her safe to land. But she left that evening. She was a poor thing, absolutely determined to stop. I hated her the moment I saw her face, it was so white and pasty; and she wasn't at all interesting. She couldn't tell stories; she didn't believe in changelings. She had never read the Arabian Nights. She knew hardly any history; but she was great at dates. Oh, she was a horror! She was rather fond of grammar, too, and odds and ends of things that aren't a bit interesting. And needlework! Oh, the way she worried me to death with her needlework! She did criss-cross and cross-criss, and every other stitch that was ever invented. So I said to myself, 'Miss Carter must go,' and I took her out on a rather stormy day, and we got into mid-current. Mother and the servants came shouting to us to get out of it; but of course we couldn't, and poor Miss Carter, how she did shriek! And I said, 'We are certain to go over the fall; but we won't get drowned, for I won't let you, if you will promise faithfully to give notice the very instant you get back to the house.' Oh, poor thing, didn't she promise! Her very teeth were chattering. She was in a most awful state. Now, we can go over the waterfall to-day if you don't mind. You wouldn't be frightened, would you?"

"Frightened? Not I! But I don't intend to go over the waterfall, all the same."

"Now, what on earth do you mean by that remark?" asked Irene.

"I am quite as strong as you, and if it comes to a fight I can take the oars. The current is not yet very strong; but I wish to get out of it, for the see-sawing up and down makes me a little bit sea-sick. I am not your governess. I am just a girl who has come to live at the Merrimans', and I can make myself very pleasant to you if you make yourself pleasant to me, or I can take not the slightest notice of you. There are heaps and heaps of other girls about. There are all the Singletons."

"Oh, for primness!" began Irene. "Oh, those Green Leaves! they are positively detestable. But you shall have your way, Rosamund. You really are not afraid, so just you take one oar and I will take the other, and we will get into smooth water and enjoy ourselves for once. It is a comfort to talk to some one who hasn't a scrap of fear in her."

"Nobody ought to be afraid of you," said Rosamund, taking up an oar as she spoke; and with a few vigorous strokes the girls got out of the current into the still, blue waters of the lake.

Poor Lady Jane, who was watching them from her boudoir window, breathed a sigh of relief.

"I knew that girl was sent to be a blessing to me," she said to herself; "and my dear old friend's child, too. Oh, why was I given such a creature as Irene to bring up and look after? I can no more manage her than an old hen could manage a fierce young ostrich."

Meanwhile Rosamund and Irene began to enjoy themselves. The tea, as it was called, consisted of a bottle of cold tea; but the rest of the provisions were first-rate, the most delicious cakes of all sorts and descriptions, with a few other dainties in the shape of sandwiches. The girls ate and talked, and Irene, perhaps for the first time in her life, became almost rational in her behavior.

"And now," said Irene, "I want you to tell me again what you said about mother being naughty, because it will give me a most tremendous hold over her. I wish you would tell me some of the sort of things she used to do; because if I can say, 'I got it from you, mother, and you are the one to blame,' it would be an immense pull. I wish you would tell me. Do, won't you?"

"She never did the sort of things you have done," said Rosamund.

"How in the world do you know that?"

"Well, for instance, she was never cruel."

"I cruel? Well, I like that! I often and often put slugs and snails and worms, and that sort of thing, out of the path for fear any one should tread on them. I cruel?"

"You are in one way," said Rosamund. "I am not a scrap afraid of you, and I say you are cruel when you terrify the servants and your poor mother, who has no one but you, and"——

"We will get back into the current if you say another word," said Irene.

"No, we won't," replied Rosamund, "for I will keep this oar, and you cannot wrench it from me."

She grasped it more firmly as she spoke. Irene looked at her for a moment, and her small, wild, charming face seemed to lighten as though with sudden passion. Then she broke into a merry laugh.

"I declare it is refreshing to hear you," she said. "Only don't scold me too much at first. Let us be jolly for a little bit. When will you come to see me again?"

"That depends on your mother and, I suppose, on the people I am living with—the Merrimans."

"I don't know them."

"Don't know them? Why, they live quite close."

"I don't know any of the girls round here. There is a Merriman called Lucy, a horrid prig, isn't there?"

"I must confess that I don't care for her," said Rosamund.

"Ah! then we have something in common. I shall cultivate her just for the express purpose of finding out her faults, and then we will have more in common. Only, promise me one thing, Rose."

"What is that?" said Rosamond, suddenly struck by the gentle tone which the queer child's voice could assume.

"You won't take up with the Leaves. Do let the Leaves alone. Mother is always harping on them, and bringing them up to me. But the fact is, they are afraid to come here. They have been invited scores of times; but they always make excuses at the last moment. I know the reason, for that terrible Miss Carter, who was nearly drowned, went straight from us to them, and has remained with them ever since. Of course, she told them about the boat, and the current in the middle of the lake, and the waterfall. I have been rather curious to see them, and to give them a good round fright, every one of them, till they blanch to the color of ghosts, and then their green dresses wouldn't suit them any longer. But they wouldn't come. I have got no friends. That is why I am so anxious to have you as a friend. You don't think me so dreadful, do you?"

"I think you could be splendid; but at the present moment I consider that you are exceedingly naughty," said Rosamund. "But then, I am not a bit too good myself, so I suppose that is why I tolerate you. Now, will you please row back to the shore, for I am afraid I must be returning to the Merrimans'?"

TEA ON THE LAKE.

It was with some difficulty that Rosamund persuaded Irene to obey her orders; but firmness won the day. That young lady was accustomed to ruling with a rod of iron, but she had at last found a girl who was not the least afraid of her, who really did not mind what she did, and who insisted on taking one oar while she took the other. This was a new experience, and she could do nothing, try as she would, to terrify Rosamund, who laughed when she assured her that she was a changeling, and might perhaps take any form at any time, and might return to her real home with the fairies at any moment; who laughed still more merrily when she vowed she would upset the boat.

"I can swim like a duck," said Rosamund, "and I am a great deal bigger than you are; and, clever as you think yourself, you would be no match for me in the water."

In the end the merry laugh, the good nature, the charm and beauty of the face, touched something which had never yet been awakened in Irene's wild little heart. She turned to her oar, and they rowed quite silently, and soon both girls landed on the shore. There they found Lady Jane awaiting them.

"As you did not get leave, dear, to come here to-day, I think I had better take you back myself to the Merrimans', for I should like to see Mr. Merriman and have a chat with him; so will you come straight with me to the carriage?"

"May I come too?" asked Irene suddenly.

"No, dear, I think not. I could not take you in that red frock. If you were to put on a white dress, perhaps; but I think not to-day, Irene."

Lady Jane looked anxiously at her little daughter. Irene gave a wild laugh, which really sounded to poor Rosamund as scarcely human, and the next moment, with a whoop, she disappeared into the thick shrubbery of young trees near by. Her voice could then be heard calling, "Frosty! Frosty! come at once;" and then a thin and very emaciated woman was seen coming out of a summer-house just beyond.

Meanwhile Lady Jane put her hand on Rosamund's arm.

"You have done wonders," she said. "You amaze me. I scarcely know how to thank you. Come with me at once. I must see more of you; but you will have to go home now."

Rosamund took the lady's hand, and they walked up to the house, where an open landau was waiting for them. They drove quickly through the summer air. Rosamund remained silent, afraid to speak, and yet longing to say something. It was not until they had gone nearly a mile that Lady Jane broke the silence.

"I have always felt that if her heart could be touched she would be all right," was her first remark. "I think, somehow, you have touched it. She has been a great and dreadful trial to me—her extraordinary spirits, the way she fears nothing, the impossibility of giving her the slightest discipline, the—the"——

Here the poor lady burst into tears.

"Oh, don't, Lady Jane!" said Rosamund. "I am not a very good girl myself, and perhaps that is why I partly understand her. At the present moment I hate my position. I like Mr. and Mrs. Merriman very well, and some of the girls; but I can't stand that priggish Lucy. Perhaps that is why I comprehend Irene—anyhow, if I may sometimes come to see her."

"Sometimes, dear! Sometimes! But I am going to see Mr. Merriman on that very point this evening. I want you to be constantly with her."

"How can I be if I have to do all my lessons?"

"I will write to your mother. Something will have to be done. I can't lose this one chance. It was Heaven directed me; and, oh, your face in church—so like your mother's, and withal so spirited and so sweet! And then I felt that if only my little darling were in any way like you! I have had sorrow in my life; but no sorrow has been so great and terrible as that which I have endured with regard to that poor child."

"She has a lovely face," said Rosamund; "but the fact is, she is untamed. She wants some one to tame her; and no one can break her in. She must be led, not driven."

"I know it; but then I cannot lead her, and she has got the whole house so thoroughly in her power that she gloats over the position. But I must not say any more."

"I am afraid Mr. and Mrs. Merriman will be very angry with me," said Rosamund; "but, to tell the truth," she added, "I should not mind a bit if I had not met Irene. But somehow, now, I would rather be good than naughty, because I want really to help her."

They had now turned in at the avenue and were driving up to the house. They could see several girls coming to meet them. Jane Denton was the first to notice Rosamund. She went up to her at once.

"Oh, Rose," she said, "they are making such a fuss!" and then she colored and glanced at Lady Jane.

"Don't say a word against Rosamund. Whether she has been disobedient or not, she has done a splendid afternoon's work," said Lady Jane. Then she added, "Introduce me to your young friend, my dear."

Rosamund did so. Jane was much pleased. She had heard a good deal about Lady Jane in the course of the afternoon, and when Lucy and Mrs. Merriman and one or two other girls were inveighing against Rosamund's extreme naughtiness in going to see the great lady without permission, Jane was envying her in her heart.

Now Rosamund jumped lightly from the carriage, put her hand inside Jane's arm, and conducted Lady Jane into the house. She walked straight toward the study, that sacred room which was seldom invaded, and opening the door, announced Lady Jane Ashleigh, then at once closed it behind the good lady, and went with her friend Jane Denton into the grounds.

"You have got into a scrape," said Jane. "I never knew anything like it. What a pity you went!"

"Oh! don't bother me, Jane. I really don't care a bit if they do punish me. What punishment can they inflict?"

"Lucy said that you ought to be expelled," said Jane. "You never knew anything like her rage. But I rather think she did harm than otherwise, for the Professor said to her, 'Oh, gently, Lucy—gently. It is her first offense.' So I don't expect they will do that."

"It would be rather delightful if they did," said Rosamund, "for then I could go to Lady Jane and have a right good time. There, come along. I have a lot to tell you, but nothing at all to tell the others. Here they are coming to meet us, with that precious Lucy at their head. Wouldn't I like to take her out on the lake?" thought Rosamund, but she did not utter her thought aloud.

The fact was, seeing these good, well-behaved girls brought back a great deal of her naughty spirit, whereas terribly naughty Irene made her feel more or less good.

"What a strange creature I am!" she thought, with a sigh. "And how can I hope to influence any one?"

Meanwhile Lucy came straight up until she stood a few feet away from Rosamund.

"I wonder," she said, speaking in even a more formal way than usual, "how you can look me in the face, Rosamund. Have you ever been at school before?"

"I don't call this school," said Rosamund; "it is a private house. It is true we are subject to rules." Then she added, making a great effort to control herself and to speak quietly, "I will tell your father and mother what I feel with regard to this day's expedition; but I will not tell you, for you are only a school-girl like myself, and I expect, when all is said and done, not a bit better."

"Not a bit better?" repeated Lucy, her voice almost choking. "Why, I never disobeyed my parents in the whole course of my life."

"I am not aware that I have disobeyed mine," said Rosamund. "But," she continued, turning to the other girls, "I will talk of this to my master and mistress, Professor and Mrs. Merriman, and not to you, Lucy."

Then she linked her hand through Jane Denton's arm, called to Laura Everett to follow her, while Annie Millar, Laura's special friend, immediately turned to join the little group, and the four children soon found themselves in the shade of one of the thickest plantations in Sunnyside.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said Laura, speaking excitedly, "there has been a fuss made. I always did admire you, Rosamund; but I must own I was disappointed at your creeping away in the manner you did, without telling anybody. And as to dear Professor Merriman, his face was quite full of pain. I could scarcely bear to look at him."

"I am sorry I went," said Rosamund. "At least, in one sense I am sorry, but it was a mistake to prevent me. The fact is," she continued, "I am not made like ordinary girls; I know I am not, and I could not stand the narrow point of view which it seemed to me the Professor had assumed."

"But at school, remember, if there were no discipline there would be no chance of education," was Laura's next remark.

"I am sure Laura is right," said Annie Millar.

"Well, I hold with Rosamund to a certain extent," exclaimed Jane Denton.

Rosamund turned round to her own friend and smiled.

"Now, I will tell you something," she said. "I hold a distinct brief against myself. I did wrong, and yet in some ways I suppose I did right to go. Girls, have you ever heard any particulars with regard to Lady Jane Ashleigh?"

Laura's face turned very red.

"Of course, every one in the place respects her," she said.

"Yes, I know, and I am not a bit surprised. I told her quite frankly that I had come without leave, and she said she was sorry for that; and although she did wish to see me so much, she would insist on not allowing me to stay to supper, and brought me home, as you see, comparatively early. So you will understand that she at least is not to blame. Nevertheless, have you heard anything more of that household?"

"Only that there is a girl—a very queer girl—there," said Annie Millar in an almost spiteful voice.

"Some people say she is mad," said Laura Everett.

"Well, now, I am going to tell you something," said Rosamund. "I have seen the girl. Her name is Irene. She has quite one of the most beautiful little faces I have ever looked at. And she is the wildest, queerest creature; but not a scrap mad in the ordinary sense of the word. She and I spent a good deal of the afternoon together, and I mean to see more of her, and to make her my friend."

"But you will have so many friends!" interrupted Jane.

"Yes, every one wants to be your friend, Rosamund," said Laura in a gentle tone.

"And I am quite glad to be everybody's friend, if only Lucy Merriman may be left out of the category," was Rosamund's answer. "But, all the same, I mean to make Irene Ashleigh my special friend above all others, and you must none of you be jealous, because—because—well, I can't explain."

"There are the Singletons," said Laura quickly. "Mr. Singleton came over this afternoon with two of the girls, the two eldest ones; their names are Maud and Alice, and they told us a lot about Irene. They seem to have a perfect horror of her. They are awfully nice girls, and we are to go there on Wednesday afternoon, and I for one am looking forward to it. But, Rosamond, it is extraordinary that you should take up with her. They told us an awful story about how Irene treated their dear governess, Miss Carter. They wouldn't tell us quite all, but they said that, for their parts, nothing would induce them to go to The Follies, although they had been asked ever so often. And as to poor Miss Carter, her nerves have not yet got over the awful shocks that Irene subjected her to. Once she was almost drowned."

"Oh! I know all about that," said Rosamund, with a laugh. "Well, don't keep me now. I see Lady Jane driving away, and I am going straight to have an interview with the Professor."

The girls watched her, in a little group, as she marched out of the wood, across the front lawn, and passed into the house by a side-door which led straight to the Professor's study.

He was alone, expecting no one. He was somewhat tired, and life seemed to him a little more bewildering than usual. He had never greatly approved of his wife's scheme of having girls to live with them, but had yielded to it at last under the pressure of necessity. He had no objection to the scheme on any score except that he was afraid it might absorb all his time and thoughts; for he was so constituted that he could never see a human creature, particularly a human creature in trouble, without taking that person's part and endeavoring if possible to set wrong right. And now, just what he feared had happened. He was weak and ill, and his nerves shaken, and Lady Jane had been to him, and Rosamund Cunliffe, the girl whom he most admired of all those who had come to live at Sunnyside, had directly disobeyed him, and Lady Jane had made a somewhat painful appeal to his sympathy. What was to be done?

Mrs. Merriman had hurried into the room the moment Lady Jane had left.

"Well," she said—"well, and what did Lady Jane say? And what are we going to do with that naughty girl? We ought to be firm with her. We really ought, Ralph."

The Professor looked gently at her, but did not speak.

"For Lucy's sake we ought to be firm," continued Mrs. Merriman. "Of course, I don't want to be hard on any girl; but a direct act of disobedience——"

"It is her first offence; and, after all, the girl is impulsive and has never been subject to control, and there are extenuating circumstances," said the Professor. "My dear," he continued, laying his hand on his wife's very plump shoulder, "you must speak to Lucy from yourself, not from me, dear; for I am too tired. But you must speak to her from yourself, and tell her that she is not to dictate any terms to us with regard to the pupils who come to be educated at Sunnyside. She herself is but one of the pupils. And now, dear, leave me, please."

Mrs. Merriman did so, and a moment later Rosamund entered the room. She advanced proudly, her head well thrown back, a spot of additional color on each cheek, her brown eyes brighter than usual.

"Professor," she said before he could speak a word, for he was amazed at her entering into his presence, "I know I have been a very naughty girl. I did disobey you. I did go all by myself to The Follies. I was annoyed at your strict views, and I had not been accustomed to self-control. I beg of you to forgive me, and to forgive me although I am not particularly repentant."

"What do you mean by that, Rosamund?" asked the Professor, his eyes darkening and a look of pain crossing his face.

"Because I think I have helped Lady Jane, and I want, please, Professor, your forgiveness and then your help."

As she spoke she suddenly dropped on her knees by his side and laid one hand on his knee.

"I want your help," she said, looking up into his face, "for dear Lady Jane was mother's friend, and she has got such a strange, wild, beautiful little daughter, whom nobody understands, and who is, I confess, exceedingly naughty. But I—yes, I, Professor—want to tame her."

"I have heard of her," said Professor Merriman. "There is no one living in the place who has not heard of Irene Ashleigh. The fact is, her name is a terror to the neighborhood. I have heard dreadful stories of that child, and the thought of her has weighed on my mind."

"As it is weighing on mine now," said Rosamund in a low voice, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"My dear, you have been sent to me to be trained as I would train my own child—to be trained in this little simple school, to be educated in mind and body, not to be thrown into contact with a girl who is in no way fit to know you. At present, Rosamund, you are under masters and governors, and have, according to scriptural precepts, to obey them. By-and-by your time of emancipation will come, and you will owe allegiance only to God and those whom you love, my dear; but until that time comes it seems to me scarcely fit or advisable that you should have anything to do with Irene. I told Lady Jane so this evening."

"You told Lady Jane that?" said Rosamund, rising to her feet, her face very pale, her eyes dark as night.

"Yes, I did, for I considered it my duty."

"Then you would like me to leave you, Professor? You would like me to write to my mother and explain all the circumstances to her, and beg and implore of her to take me away?"

"You must please yourself, Rosamund," said the Professor; and now he rose and in his turn laid his hand on her shoulder. "You have a generous heart, I can see. But you have never been subjected to the rigorous laws of self-control. You showed a sad want of self-control when you disobeyed me to-day, and again I perceive it breaking out. If you cannot obey me, Rosamund, you must go. Yes, I shall be sorry to have to say it, but you must go."

"And does that mean," said Rosamund, "that I am not to see Irene, that I am not to try to help her, that I am not to be a friend to Lady Jane, that my mother's wishes in this matter are to be disregarded?"

"It means," said the Professor very gravely, "that, for the present at least, you are to have nothing whatever to do with Irene Ashleigh—nothing whatever to do with her. You understand that, Rosamund. And I give you a week, my dear, to decide. Think over the advantages of this home. Think what it means to your friends, and will eventually mean to yourself, and try to discover that I am wise in my generation, although you doubtless consider me foolish. If at the end of the week you have found out that you cannot really obey me—or, rather, that you will not—I shall have, reluctantly, to write to your mother and ask her to remove you, for the other girls cannot be contaminated with that most fatal of all sins, the sin of direct disobedience."

Rosamund bowed her head. The tears she could not repress brimmed to her eyes. Suddenly she flung off the Professor's detaining hand.

"Oh, you are hard!" she said. "Is no one to help a girl who will soon become irreclaimable? Why, already I have an influence over her."

But the Professor did not answer.

"Give yourself a week," he said after a long pause; "then come to me again with your resolution."

She was about to leave the room when he again laid his hand on her arm.

"Give me your word of honor, Rosamund Cunliffe, that you do not go again to The Follies until the week is up."

She looked at him, struggled to speak, but remained silent.

"Your word of honor," he repeated, "you do not go to The Follies until the week is up."

"My word of honor!" she said then in a faltering tone. "I will not go on one condition, that you allow me to write to Lady Jane."

"You may do that if you promise to tell her the exact truth, that you are on parole for a week. At the end of that time you may come to a decision. God grant it may be a right one! I trust you, but leave me now, please, dear."

Rosamund left the room.