Effie was half glad, half sorry to be rid of Sheila. In a way she was fond of her cousin, but she had become rather jealous of her too. And then her foolish mother had fostered in her the belief that Ronald Dumaresq would certainly pay his addresses to her if only Sheila would let him alone, and not be perpetually attracting him off to herself. Effie had been taken by Ronald from the first, and was flattered at being told of his preference. She had begun to fancy herself more or less in love with him, as girls with nothing better to think about are rather disposed to do. She liked to picture herself the mistress of an establishment, with a handsome young husband to take her about. If it were true that Ronald admired her, it was a thousand pities he should not have a fair field. Effie did not pause to consider that he had an excellent opportunity as it was for prosecuting his wooing, and that if he let himself be turned from his purpose by Sheila’s “machinations”—as her mother called it—his love could not be very deep or true. She was accustomed to be led by her mother’s opinions; and she had become very jealous of the way in which people “took up” Sheila, and left her out in the cold. As Sheila made no answer, Effie moved away, and joining her mother in the next room remarked— “You have upset her very much, but I suppose she will get over it. I think she won’t come down to-night, her face will be all red and swollen. What shall we say to people? Shall you tell them she is going to be sent home?” Mrs. Cossart looked a little taken aback. She had overlooked the fact that some explanation would have to be given of this exceedingly sudden arrangement. She looked at her daughter, and then said slowly— “Well, we won’t say anything to-night, only that Sheila has a headache and cannot come down. You will have a chance of talking to Mr. Dumaresq at table now, Effie. I am quite tired of the sound of Sheila’s laugh, and her way of getting his notice all for herself.” But Effie found Ronald rather abstracted, and she did not make much way with him. After he heard that Sheila was not coming down he seemed to go off into a brown study; and it was only when Mr. Cossart suddenly seemed to drop a bomb in their midst that he took note of what was passing. “Yes, she is to go home on Monday, my wife has decided,” Mr. Cossart remarked to Miss Adene, all unconscious of his wife’s warning looks. “We brought her out for a little holiday and amusement; and now she will go back home to another uncle of hers. Oh, yes, we shall all miss her. She is a merry little puss. But we think she has been here long enough. Mrs. Barrett has kindly promised to take care of her on the voyage home.” Ronald’s eyes had fixed themselves upon Mr. Cossart’s face. “Are you speaking of Miss Cholmondeley? Surely it has been arranged rather suddenly?”