'Thank you very much indeed; you have always been her true friend. I am very anxious--so we are all you see--Lady Mary would like a companion--Harold attends to her better than to any one else. I hope you like Harold; ah--yes--he is a fine boy, and so talented; and you know--to be sure. I should wish to have Freda to read with me again; I assure you I miss her in many ways. And the colonel and Mrs Vaughan--the children--in fact--in short--you understand?' 'Perfectly, and will not throw any obstacle in the way of Freda's remaining at home.' 'Thank you very much. You are a true friend, Mrs Jones; thank you.' Mrs Jones made a point of repeating that conversation to Freda, whose look of blank dismay quite startled her. 'Oh! Serena, you want to get rid of me. I could never live this kind of life again. Lady Mary would kill me in another month; not an idea in common. Her daughter is fifty times more endurable, for she is innocent in her silliness. And then that cranky, exigeant colonel, longing to make love to me if I would let him; the stiff dinner parties, tiresome people, spoilt children--though I do delight in Harold and Winnie and Gwynne and Dot and baby, too, for that much--and--' 'And your father,' quietly suggested Mrs Jones. 'I never thought you would wish me to leave you, Serena. Those happy, useful days! The poor, the schools, the church!' 'They are everywhere, my love.' 'But so different. I never felt so happy or useful before I lived with you in London.' 'The change is in yourself, not in the place.' 'Oh! Serena, this is cruel! I could live with my father anywhere, but the others--impossible.' 'Think it over. You know that you have a home with us whenever you like; that it would be my pleasure as well as interest to have you always. That we shall miss you in every possible way; still duty is duty. As long as your father did not care, and Lady Mary was rather glad to have the Park to herself, the thing was, perhaps, different, at any rate Freda was not then the Freda she is now. 'Serena, you are a bitter-sweet, and a horrible little apple that is.' 'But they say it makes good cider.' 'At any rate you ought not to influence me. I will not decide whilst you are here, and that is all I will promise. If I do, it will be to go to you undoubtedly. But I will think it over.' That very night before she went to bed, Freda did think it over, sitting by the fire in her delightful, warm, well-lighted, well-furnished bedroom; but she could not come to any determination. She made out a sort of debtor and creditor account in her own head, and cashed it according to her somewhat imperfect notions of book-keeping.