Now, Miss Lyster was not wanting in good sense. She was taken by surprise, as was every one else, by this sudden movement. She had had no time to think what was best under the circumstances; the only idea that occurred to her was how more than useless it would be to offend Lady Ridsdale. Unless she managed to secure her good opinions there would be no invitations to Ridsdale house. These ideas flashed through her mind with the rapidity of lightning; then Miss Lyster, with an expression on her face that was a most perfect mixture of reverence and humility, said: "I hope Miss Arleigh will study herself and your ladyship, not me." "You must not look at it in that light. Miss Arleigh studies every one most kindly, I am sure. It is simply this: that there would never be the least objection to Miss Arleigh following out any wish or any idea that should occur to her, but that in this case it would be impossible to carry out her wish. Miss Arleigh will soon be surrounded by friends and companions of her own age, and then she will not feel lonely." Miss Lyster's reply was a deep, silent bow. To herself she said: "If she thinks to take Marion from me, she is mistaken. I will never lose my hold on her." Lady Ridsdale was touched by the companion's resignation to circumstances. "We shall be very pleased to see you at Thorpe Castle during the vacation, Miss Lyster," said Lady Ridsdale, "and we owe you a deep debt of gratitude for your unfailing kindness to Miss Arleigh." Then the interview ended. Miss Lyster, after a few more words, quitted the room. "My dear Marion," said Lady Ridsdale, "I am almost glad that circumstances do prevent you from carrying out this arrangement." "Why?" she asked simply. "Because I have lived in the world long enough to be a judge of character, and your friend's face does not please me. Do not trust her too far." CHAPTER IX. Life at Miss Carleton's and life at Thorpe Castle were very different. Marion had not been there very long before she began to feel most perfectly happy, and to wonder how she endured the monotonous routine of school. The parting from Allan had really been terrible to her, his love had for so long been her chief comfort and her only pleasure. She said to herself that she should miss him most terribly; yet, if she had looked into her own heart, she would have seen it was not so much him she should miss as it was the novelty of his letters, his plotting, his poetry, the stolen interviews, the hidden romance that she thought so beautiful. "You will not forget me, darling?" he said, pleadingly. "You will write to me, and you will let me sometimes see you?" She promised faithfully. She wept over leaving him, yet in some unaccountable way her spirits rose when she came away; she felt more free, more at ease than she had done for a long time.