“There, it is quite ready now,” Rose said, as she finished cutting the bread and butter. “If you will move a little, Pauline, I will carry the tray in.” “I ought to do that,” said Pauline lazily. “What will your aunt think, Rosie? I am not treating you like a visitor, am I?” “I wish I wasn’t a visitor,” said Rose, with a faint little sigh. “I envy Clare more than I ever envied anybody. She must be having a lovely time.” “It will soon be over, poor dear. I wish”--Pauline stopped again, and began a fresh sentence. “You and I would get on better than Clare and I do, Rose. We like the same things. She does not care a bit for music, but I can’t live without it. What delightful times we could have together, Rose! But I don’t suppose your aunt would hear of it. She is more old-fashioned in her ideas than Lady Desborough.” Rose had clasped her hands together. “Oh, Pauline, it would be too delightful! Would you really like to have me? Aunt Lucy might let me come, though I’m afraid she could not get on without me. And there’s Tom!” Pauline’s dark eyes grew quizzical “I didn’t know you were afraid of Tom, Rose. Doesn’t he think everything you do is right? Was there ever a little girl so spoiled by a big brother?” “But he thinks I ought always to be at home to wait on him. You said the other day that he was selfish, Pauline.” “All brothers are, my dear,” returned Pauline oracularly, “and it is sisters who make them so. Come, strike a blow for your liberty, Rose. You are not really wanted at home, and you are wasting your days in that dull little country place. Wouldn’t you like to live here with me?” Rose’s face was answer enough. She drew a deep breath before she spoke. “If only Aunt Lucy wouldn’t miss me too much, Pauline! But she’s not strong. I don’t think she could do without me.” “She would be better if she came up to London oftener and had a fuller life,” returned Pauline, with decision. “Her ill health has always been mainly imaginary, Rose. When people have nothing else to do, they sink into invalidism. But you are making me lose my character as a hostess altogether. Let us take in the tea. Your aunt will wonder what we have been doing.” But Miss Merivale had not noticed that the tea was a long time in making its appearance. She was still absorbed in anxious thought when the girls came in, and after a little while she managed to lead the conversation back to Clare and her typewriter. “Mr. Powell suggested that we should have the programmes for the concert typewritten, Rose. He said it would be cheaper. Could you give me the address of Miss Sampson, Miss Smythe?” “I shouldn’t advise you to employ her, Miss Merivale,” returned Pauline in a voice that had a sharp edge to it. For some reason or other, Clare’s assistant was evidently not a favourite of hers. “I don’t believe she knows her business properly. Lady Desborough’s sister picked her up for Clare.” “I might try her. Could you give me her address, my dear?”