“Wilmot? That’s the cook, isn’t it? I never can remember servants’ names. Well, did she condole with you about the concert, and think me a wretch for deserting you? I am afraid Miss Merivale will think so.” “I didn’t say anything about the concert,” returned Rose. “She talked about Miss Sampson chiefly. She seems to think her perfect.” “I daresay,” returned Pauline, with a yawn. “Those sort of people always hang together. She’s more of Wilmot’s class than ours, you know. I wonder what your aunt thinks of her.” “Oh, Aunt Lucy thinks her perfect too,” returned Rose, no longer able to keep her jealousy out of her voice. “And so does Tom. I don’t believe they miss me one little bit, Pauline.” “Did Wilmot tell you that?” “No, but I am sure they don’t. Little things she said made me think so.” “You silly child!” laughed Pauline. “Did you want your aunt to fret herself to death because you weren’t there to run her errands? You ought to be glad she finds Miss Sampson so useful. She may be willing to let you stay on with me all the summer. Wouldn’t that be delightful? Why, what a gloomy little face! Rose, I believe you are angry because I accepted Félicie’s invitation. But I am not going to leave you alone again. I must remember you are not like Clare. You are vexed with me, now confess it.” “I see you could not help it,” Rose answered wearily. “And I was glad to go home. I shall go again on Saturday. You must come with me, Pauline.” “Don’t tell your aunt that I wanted you to go to the concert alone, then,” said Pauline, with a laugh. “She is such a dear old-fashioned thing, she might be shocked at me. And I believe you were shocked, just a little. How Clare would have laughed at you!” There was an expression of alarm in Pauline’s eyes as she watched Rose. She began to fear that she had really offended her by her behaviour. She had been so sure of her influence that she had not thought it necessary to consider her, but she told herself now that she had been distinctly foolish. And she tried her best to make Rose forget that she had been deserted for a new friend. But she could not chase away the shadow from Rose’s face. It was not her disappointment about the concert which had brought it there. It was the feeling that she was not being missed at home. Next morning she was practising her scales in the sitting-room, after Pauline had gone to give some lessons, when Tom was ushered in by Mrs. Richards. Rose ran to meet him with a glad cry. “Oh, Tom, this is nice! Has Aunt Lucy come with you?” “No; she sent me. She wants you and Miss Smythe to spend Saturday to Monday with us. Why didn’t you let us know you were coming yesterday, Rosie? Aunt Lucy was so disappointed when she found you had come down.” “I didn’t think of it till the middle of the day. You had gone to Guilford, they told me. Wasn’t that too far for Aunt Lucy?”