“How very conscientious you are!” laughed Lady Augusta, her tone savouring of ridicule. Constance coloured almost to tears with her emotion. “I am responsible to One always, Lady Augusta. I may not make mine only eye-service.” “You will never put up with our scrambling breakfast, Miss Channing. The boys are so unruly; and I do not get up to it half my time.” “I will return home to breakfast. I should prefer to do so. And I will be here again at ten.” “Whatever time do you get up?” “Not very early,” answered Constance. “Hitherto I have risen at seven, summer and winter. Dressing and reading takes me just an hour; for the other hour I find plenty of occupation. We do not breakfast until nine, on account of Tom and Charley. I shall rise at six now, and come here at seven.” “Very well,” said Lady Augusta. “I suppose this will only apply to the summer months. One of the girls shall go with us to-day; whichever deserves it best.” “You are not leaving one of them at home to make room for me, I hope, Lady Augusta?” “Not at all,” answered Lady Augusta. “I never _chaperon_ two children to a crowded meeting. People might say they took up the room of grown-up persons.” “You will let me go--not Caroline, Miss Channing?” pleaded Fanny, when her mother had quitted them. “No,” said Caroline, sharply; “Miss Channing will fix upon me.” “I shall obey Lady Augusta, and decide upon the one who shall best merit it,” smiled Constance. “It will be only right to do so.” “Suppose we are both good, and merit it equally?” suggested Fanny. “Then, my dear little girl, you must not be disappointed if, in that case, I give the privilege to Caroline, as being the elder of the two. But I will make it up to you in some other way.” Alas for poor Caroline’s resolution! For a short time, an hour or so, she did strive to do her best; but then good resolutions were forgotten, and idleness followed. Not only idleness, temper also. Never had she been so troublesome to Constance as on this day; she even forgot herself so far as to be insolent. Fanny was taken to the meeting--you saw her in the carriage when Lady Augusta drove to Mr. Galloway’s office, and persuaded Hamish to join them--Caroline was left at home, in a state of open rebellion, with the lessons to learn which she had _not_ learnt in the day. “How shall you get on with them, Constance?” the Rev. William Yorke inquired of her that same evening. “Have the weeds destroyed the good seed?” “Not quite destroyed it,” replied Constance, though she sighed sadly as she spoke, as if nearly losing heart for the task she had undertaken. “There is so much ill to undo. Caroline is the worst; the weeds, with her, have had longer time to get ahead. I think, perhaps, if I could keep her wholly with me for a twelvemonth or so, watching over her constantly, a great deal might be effected.”