Here Miss Cherry was arrested by Cara’s look turned calmly upon her, without excitement or anxiety, yet with that half smile which shows when a young observer has seen the weak point in the elder’s discourse. ‘What should his connections or his fortune have to do with it if he wanted to see me and I wanted to see him?’ said Cara; ‘we have been friends all our lives. But do not make yourself uneasy, Aunt Cherry; for though I might, perhaps, like well enough to see Roger now and then, I don’t want him every Sunday. What would papa say? Roger thinks Sunday in the Square is like Sunday here--church and then a stroll, and then church again. You know it was not like that when I was at home before.’ ‘No,’ said Miss Cherry, with a sigh; ‘but then it was different.’ She had her own thoughts as to whose fault that was, and by whose influence James had been led away from natural churchgoing; but she was far too loyal, both to the dead and to the living, to show this. ‘Cara,’ she added, hurriedly, ‘in that respect, things will be as you like best hereafter. You will be the one to settle what Sunday is to be--and what a great many other things are to be. You must realise what is before you, my dear child.’ ‘I can’t realise Roger there in papa’s library,’ said Cara, ‘or upstairs. Am I to live _there_? in the drawing-room. Will it never be changed?’ ‘It is so pretty, Cara--and you would like the things to be as pleased her,’ said Miss Cherry, in trembling tones. Cara did not make any response--her face wore a doubtful expression, but she did not say anything. She turned her back upon the landscape, and looked up at the house. ‘Shall I never come back just the same?’ she said. ‘Roger says so; but he is not clever--how should he know? what should change me? But the Square is not like the Hill,’ she added, with a little shiver. ‘Papa will not think of me as you do--everything for Cara; that will make a change.’ ‘But you can think of him,’ said Cherry, ‘everything for _him_; and, perhaps, for a woman that is the happiest way of the two.’ Once more Cara was silent. Clouds of doubt, of reluctance, of unwilling repugnance, were floating through her mind. She had a horror and fear of the Square, in which her life was henceforward to be passed--and of her father, of whom she knew so much more than he was aware. For a moment the old tumult in her soul about the secret she had never told came surging back upon her, a sudden tide from which she could scarcely escape. ‘Come, Aunt Cherry,’ she said, suddenly seizing her astonished companion by the arm. ‘Come and play for us. We must have a dance on the lawn my last day.’ CHAPTER X. THE SQUARE.