"You are a darling, and I adore you!" cried Cynthia fondly. "But you are old, you know, and I am so dreadfully young. There's something all fizzling inside me for want of a vent. I'm just desperate sometimes to do something wild, and exciting, and hilarious; it doesn't matter how silly it is; the sillier the better! I'm so dreadfully well-regulated, mother, considering I'm only sixteen. Lessons--`studies,' as Miss Mason calls them--musical exercises, constitutional, luncheon, more studies, dinner, polite conversation, performances upon the piano, that's my daily round, and I get _so_ tired! Don't think I don't appreciate you, mother. You know I do. We are the best friends in the world, but still--" "I know," said Mrs Alliot, and sighed once more. She stroked her daughter's golden head in thoughtful silence, then asked curiously, "What made you feel your loneliness especially to-day, dear?" A flicker of laughter passed over Cynthia's pink-and-white face. "The boy and girl in Number 1, the corner house, were playing tricks on me, trying to dazzle my eyes with something--a piece of old looking- glass, I suppose. I could not understand what caused the sudden glare until I caught a glimpse of their faces peering out from behind the curtains." "Trying to dazzle you! That doctor's children? How exceedingly rude! They must be very badly brought up. And you were sitting with your eyes shut pretending to go on reading. You curious child! Why?" "It was their joke; they enjoyed it. It would have been mean to cut it short. Besides," added Cynthia, with a twinkle, "it was my joke too! They must have been so puzzled when I seemed to go on reading, for they couldn't see that my eyes were shut, and I went on turning over the pages at regular intervals, as if I were perfectly comfortable and happy. Oh no, I don't think they are rude, mother; only frisky, and I love frisky people! There are such a lot of them, and they do have such a good time. Schoolroom tea all together, and the big girl pours out. I could see them quite well when they first came, and the afternoons were light. They go in pairs--a big boy and a big girl, a middling boy and a middling girl, and then a dear little girl with a face like a kitten. I like them all so much, but--" and her voice died away in a plaintive cadence, "they don't like me!" "And how have you found that out, may I ask?" "I--I feel they don't," sighed Cynthia sadly. "They watch me out of the windows, and talk and laugh, and make remarks among themselves. The window seemed full of faces the other day..." Mrs Alliot's delicate face flushed resentfully. "Abominably rude! Really, dear, I don't think you need worry yourself what such people think. There can be no possible excuse for such behaviour!"