‘That is simply to suppose her an idiot, and unable to comprehend plain English,’ retorted Sir Vernon testily. ‘You are always making excuses for her. Hark!’ he cried, as a bright girlish laugh came ringing across the summer air. ‘There she is, playing tennis with Turchill. Would you suppose that two hours ago she was kneeling to me like a tragedy queen, her eyes streaming with tears, entreating to be sent back to school?’ ‘I’ll reason her out of her fancy, dear father. She always gives way to me when I wish it.’ ‘I am glad she has just sense enough to understand your superiority.’ ‘Dearest father, if you would be a little more affectionate to her—in your manner, I mean—I believe she would be a great deal happier.’ Another ringing laugh from Daphne. ‘She is monstrously unhappy, is she not?’ exclaimed Sir Vernon. ‘My dear Lina, that girl is a born _comédienne_. She will always be acting tragedy or comedy all her life through. This morning it was tragedy; this afternoon it is comedy. Do not let yourself be duped by her.’ ‘Believe me, papa, you misjudge her.’ ‘I hope it may be so.’ * * * * * ‘Daphne, what is this fancy of yours about going back to school?’ asked Madoline, when she and her sister were sitting in the conservatory that evening in the sultry summer dusk, while Sir Vernon and the two young men were talking politics over their claret. ‘I was quite grieved to hear of it, believing, as I did, that you were very happy at home.’ ‘Why, so I am—intensely happy—with you, darling,’ answered Daphne, taking her sister’s hand, and twisting the old-fashioned brilliant hoops, which Lina had inherited from her grandmother, round and round upon the slender finger. ‘So I am, dear, utterly happy. But happiness is not the be-all and end-all of this life, is it, Lina? The Rector is continually telling us that it isn’t, in those prosy port-winey old sermons of his; but if he were only candid about his feelings he would say that the end and aim of this life was dinner. I don’t suppose I was born only to be happy, was I, Lina? We unfortunate mortals are supposed to belong to the silkworm rather than to the butterfly species, and to work out a career of usefulness in the grub and worm stages, before we earn the right to flutter feebly for a little while as elderly moths. Youth, from a Christian point of view, is meant for work and self-abnegation, and duty, and all that kind of thing; isn’t it, Lina?’ ‘Every stage of life has its obligations, dearest; but your duties are very easy ones,’ answered Madoline gently. ‘You have only to be respectful and obedient to your father, and to do as much good as you can to those who need your kindness, and to be grateful to God for the many good gifts He has lavished upon you.’