“No; because I was there. Oh yes; there was often question of you. Mamma has a little picture of you as you were when you were taken away. It always hangs in her room; and when I had to be scolded, she used to apostrophise you. She used to say, ‘That little angel would never have done so-and-so.’ I did, for I was a little demon; so I rather hated you. She will send for you now; and I wonder if you will be a little angel still. I should like to see how you get on. But I shall be fully occupied here driving people to church, and making things pleasant for the old soldier’s youngest son.” “I wish you would not talk so wildly,” said Frances. “You are laughing at me all the time. You think I am such a simpleton, I will believe all you say. And indeed I am not clever enough to understand when you are laughing at me. All this is impossible. That I should take your place, and that you should take mine--oh, impossible!” cried Frances, with a sharper certainty than ever, as that last astounding idea made itself apparent: that Constance should order papa’s dinners and see after the mayonnaise, and guide Mariuccia--“oh, impossible!” she cried. “Nothing is impossible. You think I am not good enough to do the housekeeping for papa. I only hope you will _s’en tirer_ of the difficulties of my place, as I shall of yours. Be a kind girl, and write to me, and tell me how things go. I know what will happen. You will think everything charming at first; and then---- But don’t let Markham get hold of you. Markham is very nice. He is capital for getting you out of a scrape; but still, I should not advise you to be guided by him, especially as you are papa’s child, and he is not fond of papa.” “Please don’t say any more,” cried Frances. “I am not going--anywhere. I shall live as I have always done; but only more pleasantly from having--you.” “That is very pretty of you,” said Constance, turning round to look at her; “if you are sure you mean it, and that it is not only true--in a sort of a way. I am afraid I have been nothing but a bore, breaking in upon you like this. It would be nice if we could be together,” she added, very calmly, as if, however, no great amount of philosophy would be necessary to reconcile her to the absence of her sister. “It would be nice; but it will not be allowed. You needn’t be afraid, though, for I can give you a number of hints which will make it much easier. Mamma is a little--she is just a little--but I should think you would get on with her. You look so young, for one thing. She will begin your education over again, and she likes that; and then you are like her, which will give you a great pull. It is very funny to think of it; it is like a transformation scene; but I daresay we shall both get on a great deal better than you think. For my part, I never was the least afraid.”