"She mustn't do that," said Rhoda. "I will talk to her." Rhoda swallowed a great lump of pride that rose in her throat at that moment, and added, "I will stay through the week and help you if Mr. Ferrand is willing." "Oh, if you would! But I am afraid he will not consent, he is so angry with me and Isa and everybody. I am sure I am at my wit's end what to do," continued the poor lady. "If Isa gets one of her obstinate fits, she will half starve before she will give in, and I am afraid she will make herself sick. Well, I mustn't stay any longer. Mr. Ferrand told me to talk to you and see if I could make you see your sin; but I am sure you do see it, don't you, Rhoda?" "Yes, ma'am," said Rhoda, swallowing the lump again. "Will you please tell Mr. Ferrand that I am very sorry I deceived him about the piano, and that if he is willing I will stay and help you through this week?" The next morning Isa's door was open, and Mrs. Ferrand found her daughter prostrated with a sick headache, which proved the beginning of a somewhat serious attack of fever and indigestion. Mr. Ferrand at first refused to believe in Isa's illness, declaring it was only another deception—a mere pretext for keeping her room and escaping merited reproof; but when he came to see her, he was compelled to own himself mistaken for once, and consented to send for Doctor Morton. "She will get over it this time, or so I think," said the blunt doctor, who stood in no awe of Mr. Ferrand's wealth, family, or theories. "She has been working too hard and walking too much and living on too low diet. Her mother tells me that she has been breakfasting on oatmeal, and that she does not like it. That is all nonsense. Let her have meat twice a day, and plenty of it; keep her out of school a while, and let her have plenty of fun and amusement. Get some girl of her own age to stay with her, buy her a croquet set, or send her to some old woman in the country who will coddle and pet her and let her run wild. If you don't mind, she will slip through your fingers some day like the other one." Mr. Ferrand's feelings were deeply wounded, and also his dignity. As he said to his wife, Dr. Morton really seemed to have no idea of the respect due to a gentleman of his family and social position. Still, he did not like to take the responsibility of disregarding the doctor's advice. That remark about "the other one" had touched a sensitive place in Mr. Ferrand's heart, for he really had a heart. But he could not bear to give up and own that he had been in the wrong; and as to taking his daughter out of school and letting her run wild, the idea was not to be entertained for a moment. But something might perhaps be done by way of compromise, and Mr. Ferrand began to cast about for a way of saving his daughter and his dignity at the same time. Mr. Ferrand said nothing to Rhoda all day Sunday, though she went about her work as usual. On Monday morning, Marion came to her with a message.