Health might be one cause; but another was a certain quality in herself. She was so used to being the first thought and consideration with those about her, that if she was not that, she did not know how to take any place at all. Her mother would look on anxious and dissatisfied, utterly perplexed to find the answer to the question always forcing itself upon her. At last she reached the conclusion that Sheila was somehow in fault. If Sheila were different and made Effie welcome, things would go differently. Effie ought not to be sitting with a book in the drawing-room whilst the young folks were frolicking outside. It was not right or proper; only if Effie did go out to them, she speedily returned, not finding any fun in what amused them. So Sheila got into disgrace with her aunt by imperceptible degrees, and upon this Christmas morning her heart was rather heavy within her, though she scarcely knew why. The service, however, did her good, though she could not always keep back her tears. The building recalled no associations; it was but an ugly little place, something between a round and a square, the authorities refusing to permit a cruciform church to be built. The flowers, too, did not look at all Christmas-like in spite of a few bits of holly here and there; arum lilies were the great feature with roses and poinsettias. But the familiar hymns brought home back, and Sheila choked once or twice, thinking of Oscar, the father who had left them so suddenly, and the dear old home she never expected to see again. She walked home with Miss Adene, who talked kindly and comfortingly to her. She had seen that the child was in danger of getting in trouble, and had warned Ronald to be careful; for she half-suspected Mrs. Cossart’s ambitions for her daughter. Ronald would never think of such a thing himself, nor would Sheila, who had the mind of a child in all such matters; but Miss Adene had seen a good deal of the world, and her kindly eyes were very keen and quick. “Don’t be downhearted, little girl,” she said, “life is never all sunshine for any of us. We should not be good for much if it were. We want our east winds and rainy days, as well as the plants and flowers, to make us thrive. We should be dry and arid like a desert if we had nothing but our own way all our lives, and no little crosses to bear.” “Yes, I suppose so; only it seems hard when people are unjust. Aunt is vexed with me, and she won’t say why. She calls me rude and forward; but I don’t think I am, do you? I like fun, and they all play. Why should I be left out?”