"Well, Isabel could come, of course. She is not very strong, and cannot apply herself to her books like her cousin—indeed, there is no occasion for it. But if Mabel is here for self-improvement, she ought to make the best use of her time," concluded the lady. This was all so reasonable and so plausible that Mr. Randolph could not dispute it. But to be deprived of the society of his youngest daughter was out of the question, and so when dinner was over, a servant was despatched to summon Isabel to the drawing-room. "Only Miss Isabel," concluded the servant when she had delivered the message. The two girls looked up from their books to each other, and Mabel's face grew hot and angry. "Are you sure mamma did not send for both of us?" said Isabel. "I shall not come down to-night even if aunt sends for me. I want to write a letter to mamma," said Mabel quickly, and without giving the servant time to reply. "Then you won't mind me leaving you alone a little while," said Isabel. "Mind! Of course not. I tell you I shall be busy writing." But although Mabel hastened to get her desk and take out her writing materials, when Isabel was gone she seemed in no hurry to begin her letter. "I won't stay," she said half aloud as soon as the door had closed upon Isabel. "I am not going to be treated as a poor relation. Why should the dinner hour be altered because I am here, and why should I not go down to the drawing-room in the evening? No, no, I won't put up with it, and I'll write and tell mamma so at once." And then Mabel drew her desk towards her and began her home letter. She wrote on, covering page after page, sometimes stopping to shed a few tears, for she really was feeling home-sick as well as hurt and disappointed. And these interruptions so hindered her that Isabel came back before she had quite finished her letter. "Oh, Mabel, you are feeling dull I am afraid," said Isabel, slipping her arm round her cousin's neck, as she noticed the traces of tears on her face. "Oh, it don't matter," said Mabel hastily. "You see I have only just finished my letter," she added, pointing to the table. Should she tell her cousin what she had told her mother—that she could not stay here in this fine house where everything was so different from her own home. While she hesitated, however, Isabel said: "We will go shopping to-morrow, Mabel. Mamma says we can have the carriage in the morning, and papa has given me a cheque to go and buy a new dress." "Another new dress," said Mabel, who thought her cousin already possessed an extensive wardrobe. "Yes, dear, I am going to have one just like yours; I think I like brown now," concluded Isabel critically. "You look like a robin redbreast in your brown dress and red bonnet strings—so cosy and comfortable. I wonder whether I shall look as nice."