‘Have you lived at Beechcroft all your life, and never discovered that there is a grammar-school at Raynham, with special privileges for the sons of clergymen of the diocese?’ A few more words, and the cousins parted; Emily by no means sorry that she had been obliged to go to Raynham. She tendered the five-pound note to her father, but he desired her to wait till Friday, and then to bring him a full account of her expenditure of the year. Her irregular ways made this almost impossible, especially as in the present state of affairs she wished to avoid a private conference with either Lily or Jane. She was glad that an invitation to dine and sleep at the castle on Wednesday would save her from the peril of having to talk to Lily in the evening. Reginald came home on Tuesday, to the great joy of all the party, and especially to that of Phyllis. This little maiden was more puzzled by the events that had taken place than conscious of the feeling which she had once thought must be so delightful. She could scarcely help perceiving that every one was much more kind to her than usual, especially Claude and Lily, and Lord Rotherwood said things which she could not at all understand. Her observation to Reginald was, ‘Was it not lucky I had a cough on Twelfth Day, or Claude would not have told me what to do about gunpowder?’ Reginald troubled Phyllis much by declaring that nothing should induce him to kiss his nephew, and she was terribly shocked by the indifference with which Eleanor treated his neglect, even when it branched out into abuse of babies in general, and in particular of Henry’s bald head and turned-up nose. In the evening of Wednesday Phyllis was sitting with Ada in the nursery, when Reginald came up with the news that the party downstairs were going to practise country dances. Eleanor was to play, Claude was to dance with Lily, and Frank with Jane, and he himself wanted Phyllis for a partner. ‘Oh!’ sighed Ada, ‘I wish I was there to dance with you, Redgie! What are the others doing?’ ‘Maurice is reading, and William went out as soon as dinner was over; make haste, Phyl.’ ‘Don’t go,’ said Ada, ‘I shall be alone all to-morrow, and I want you.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Reginald, ‘do you think she is to sit poking here all day, playing with those foolish London things of yours?’ ‘But I am ill, Redgie. I wish you would not be cross. Everybody is cross to me now, I think.’ ‘I will stay, Ada,’ said Phyllis. ‘You know, Redgie, I dance like a cow.’ ‘You dance better than nothing,’ said Reginald, ‘I must have you.’ ‘But you are not ill, Redgie,’ said Phyllis. He went down in displeasure, and was forced to consider Sir Maurice’s picture as his partner, until presently the door opened, and Phyllis appeared. ‘So you have thought better of it,’ cried he. ‘No,’ said Phyllis, ‘I cannot come to dance, but Ada wants you to leave off playing. She says the music makes her unhappy, for it makes her think about to-morrow.’