"My taste and yours don't agree with regard to reading," said Mrs Aldworth, always glad to hail any interruption. "I suppose I have degenerated; I am certainly not an intellectual woman; I don't pretend that I am. I like the stories that are in the penny papers. We get two or three of them, and we always enjoy them. Will you read me one of those?" "No, mother." "Oh, how cross you are!" "I am very sorry, mother, but I will read you something just as amusing. Did you ever hear of `The Reminiscences of an Irish R.M.'?" "No, it sounds very dull." "Wait till you hear it. It will make you laugh a great deal more than the stories in the penny papers." "They make me cry a great deal. Molly reads rather badly, but yesterday I found myself weeping in the middle of the night over the woes of the poor little heroine. I am sure the next number of the paper has come in, and I am so anxious to know if she is really married to the Earl of Dorchester." "It will be Nesta's turn to-morrow, and she can read to you. Now for the balcony and a pleasant time." They had a pleasant time, and the hours flew by on wings. Marcia told stories; she laughed, she chatted, and she read a little from "The Reminiscences of an Irish R.M." Mrs Aldworth laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh, rich! rich!" she exclaimed. "That scene with the dog is inimitable. How funny, how truly funny! But, Marcia, isn't it bad for my nerves to laugh so much?" "It's the best thing for them in all the world." "Marcia, you are wonderful!" "Now for the new fancy work," said Marcia. She taught the invalid a different sort of stitch from any which she had before learned. She gave her bright-coloured silks, and a piece of art cloth to embroider upon, and soon her stepmother was so fascinated that she allowed her young companion to work in silence, often raising her eyes to look across the distant garden. The girls were spending the afternoon in the garden; but presently they went out, all three of them gaudily and badly dressed. They walked through the garden, gathered some roses, and then disappeared through a little wicket gate at the further end. Marcia felt quite sure that they did this for the purpose of showing her how they were enjoying themselves, while she was in prison. She smiled to herself. "Poor little things," she thought. "I wonder how soon I shall win their hearts." She had marked out a plan of action for herself. She had practically secured Mrs Aldworth--not for long, of course, for Nesta would turn her round the next day, and Molly the day after. It would be a constant repetition of the battle; but in the end she would win her. The girls, of course, were different. Unselfishness must be born within them before they really did what Marcia wanted them to do. Unselfishness, brave hearts, pure spirits, noble ways.