She burst into tears. Flossie was soft-hearted enough, and she comforted her friend, and said that she would not hurt her for the world, and would do her very best to get her an invitation to the picnic the next day. At this intimation Nesta immediately wiped her eyes. "I'd like it," she said; "it would be horrid to be left at home with only your old mother." "You needn't call mother old--she's no older than yours." "Well, anyhow, mine's the prettiest," said Nesta. "And my mother is the strongest," retorted Flossie. "Oh, there, don't let us quarrel," said Nesta. "If I hadn't you for my friend now, Floss, I'd be the most miserable girl in the world. To tell the truth, I'm rather terrified at the way they're taking things at home--not a word-- not a line, nothing whatever. It does seem odd, doesn't it?" Flossie made no remark. Just then Henrietta Brown was seen passing the window. Flossie put out her head and called to Henrietta to stop, and then dashed downstairs. "Oh, Henny," she gasped, "I'm ever so sorry, but Nesta Aldworth, my friend, she is still with us. I wonder--" "We really couldn't," said Henny, who was downright, and not quite as refined as even the Griffiths themselves. "We haven't a seat left. Either you must come, or your friend. We can't fit in the two of you. It's impossible. We might have done so at the beginning, but you said your stuck-up Miss Aldworth would be gone away." "Well, she has not gone," said Flossie. "Of course, if you like I can give up my seat if you are sure you couldn't squeeze us both in." "I'm certain, positive on the subject. And, Flossie, you mustn't give up your seat," said Henny, linking her arm inside Flossie's arm, "for we don't like her one little bit. She's not pretty like von, and she has no go in her. You must come. Why, Tom and Jack and Robert--they'd be just mad if you weren't there." Flossie was pleased to hear that the Brown boys--Tom, Jack, and Robert-- wished for her society. "Well, of course, it's her own fault," she said aloud, and then she went back to Nesta. "It's no go," she said. "You must stay with mother--or--or do anything you like. Ah, there's father--he's off. Good-bye, Dad." Flossie's voice sounded on the summer breeze. Mr Griffiths looked up and kissed his hand to her. "Good-bye to you both," he said. "I'll be back to-morrow, and if I can, Nesta, I'll look in and see how your mother is getting on. Are you sure you have no message?" "None; please, don't trouble," said Nesta. She was feeling now most frantically wretched. That last feast with Flossie was scarcely a success. She did not know how she was to live through the next day. If she had money enough she would return home. She would boldly declare that she had a right to her own home, the home that no longer seemed to want her. There was no telegram that day--no letter, no message of any sort.