"I therefore talk to you, as if you were almost grown up," resumed Miss Morton. Angela inclined her head gravely in acknowledgment of the compliment. "I must confess, that although you have read the most advanced literature, your mind is pure and child-like. On the other hand, in your small way, you are an anarchist, you rebel against every law. What do you propose to do with your life? You have influence, you have brains, have you decided to grow up an ill weed, and to do as much harm as you can?" No reply. Angela gazed at the flowers, the water-colours, the clock, finally into Miss Morton's eyes. "Angela Gascoigne," she continued, "answer me." "No," breathed Angel in a quick whisper. "Very well, then bear in mind that you will have to change your ways; you must work as do other girls, conform to the school rules. You have been endowed with gifts that are uncommon, and yet you only misuse them, in order to make your companions as idle and reckless as yourself. Unless you undertake to improve, and give me your word that you will show a good example for the future, I shall be obliged to write to your guardian, and ask him to remove you at once." Angel's face grew pale, her eyes looked black, and tragic. "I hate school!" she burst out, passionately. "In that case, you may be sure that school will hate you," was the prompt rejoinder, "and the sooner you leave it the better. But why do you hate school?" "I don't know." "What a silly answer for an intelligent girl! Then I can tell you; the reason is, because you are unaccustomed to rules, and regularity; it is a different life to the one you have led. I am aware that you are an orphan. Tell me, dear child," now leaning towards her, "do you love no one in the whole world, not even yourself? Come—won't you speak to me?" she pleaded very low. "Yes," rejoined the child, straightening her little figure, "I love Philip." "You mean Mr. Gascoigne, your guardian?" Angel nodded, and her face worked, despite her precocious self-control. "Then don't you think he will be very sorry to hear that you refuse to accept any of the advantages he has provided for you? I know that he hopes to see you an accomplished girl, and you can easily learn if you please. Don't you think it will grieve him when I am compelled to say that I cannot keep you among my pupils—because of your idleness; that with your intensely strong individuality, you influence them for ill, and I am obliged to remove a bad example from among them?" "Are you going to write—_this_—to Philip?" cried Angel, with a gesture of horror. "Yes, and at once, unless you will promise me that it is not necessary." "I will promise anything—to please him." "Then address yourself to your lessons—begin to-day—put away your foolish impish tricks, Angel," urged her companion; "your success lies in your own hands. Don't you think it will be much better for your guardian to be proud of you than to hear you are expelled?"