“Don’t you think you may exaggerate your usefulness to your aunt, dear?” Pauline returned, with a sneer. But with an effort she controlled her temper, and spoke the next words in a different tone. “Miss Merivale seems really anxious for you to have a change, Rose. I think she understands that you are bored and unhappy here.” “Oh, Pauline, you did not say that to her?” cried Rose, the blood rushing, up into her face. “Of course not, darling. It was your music I spoke most of. But she does want you to come to me. Go up and speak to her; you will see that she really wants it. You won’t make difficulties, Rose? Can’t you see it is best for both of you to be apart for a time? Your aunt will learn to do without you. When you come back you will be able to lead a much freer life. And think of the happy time we shall have!” But Rose’s face did not light up as Pauline had expected, and it was with a very sober step that she went up to her aunt’s room. She had made up her mind to tell her aunt that she did not want to go and stay with Pauline--that she had never really thought of leaving her. She expected to be clasped and fondly kissed for being so ready to give up her visit; but she found, to her hurt surprise, that Pauline had been right, and that her aunt was bent on her going away for a time. “It is a chance that may not happen again, Rosie,” she said, tenderly stroking her bright hair. “I have wanted you to have some really good music lessons for a long time, and Pauline and Mrs. Metcalfe will be able to see that you get the best. And you have been looking pale lately. You want a change; I know it has been dull for you. And I should like to have Rhoda here for a time. I have just been talking to Tom about it. He thinks it an excellent plan. You would like to go next week, wouldn’t you, darling? Pauline is very anxious to have you. Before she goes away we must settle how long you are to stay. Two months, I thought of. I can’t spare you longer than that, Rosie.” But, affectionate as these words were, and loving the kiss that accompanied them, Rose went downstairs again with a sore heart. She was like those who pluck Dead Sea apples, and find the fruit that looked so fair when out of reach turning to ashes in their hands. CHAPTER VII. APPLES OF SODOM. One warm, beautiful morning, early in April, Rose was toiling rather wearily up the long flight of stone steps leading to the flat. She had her violin, and she found it heavy. She was wishing she had Tom with her to carry it. Though Rose had not yet confessed it to herself, she was beginning to be a little homesick. She missed the delicious freshness of Woodcote, its wide rooms and sunny gardens, the thousand and one little comforts she had been too accustomed to to notice; but more, far, far more, she missed the protecting fondness that had surrounded her all her life. It was only a fortnight since she joined Pauline, but it seemed much longer. And June seemed a very long way off.