"It's convenientest not to quarrel with Mrs. Busby if you live in the house with her," said Lesbia. "She's orful smart, she is. But she and me allays thinks just alike, and so I get on first rate with her." "That's a very good way, for you," said Rotha. She went to bed, dulled that night with pain and misery, and slept the night through. When the light of a bright Sunday morning awoke her, she opened her eyes again to the full dreariness of her situation. So terribly dreary and cold at heart Rotha had never felt. Deserted by her one friend--and with that thought Rotha broke down and cried as if she would break her heart. But hearts are tough, and do not break so easily. The necessity of getting dressed before breakfast obliged her to check her passion of grief and dry her eyes; though _that_ she did not; the tears kept dripping on her hands and into her basin of water; but she finished dressing, and then queried what she should do about going to the breakfast-table. She was very uncertain whether she would be allowed there. However, it was disagreeable, but the attempt must be made; she must find out whether it was war to the knife or not. And although the thought choked her, she was hungry; and be it the bread of charity, and her aunt's charity to boot, she could not get along without it. She went down stairs, rather late. The family were at breakfast. Her aunt did not look at her. Antoinette stared at her. Mr. Busby, as usual, took no notice. Rotha came up to the side of the table and stood there, changing colour somewhat. "I do not know," she said, "if I am to be allowed to come to breakfast. I came to see." Mrs. Busby made no answer. "Polite--" said Antoinette. "Eh?" said Mr. Busby looking up from a letter, "what's that? Sit down, my dear, you are late. Hold your plate--" As nobody interfered, Rotha did so and sat down to her meal. Mrs. Busby said nothing whatever. Perhaps she felt she had pushed matters pretty far; perhaps she avoided calling her husband's attention any further to the subject. She made no remark about anything, till Mr. Busby had left the room; nor then immediately. When she did speak, it was in her hard, measured way. "As you present yourself before me this morning, Rotha, I may hope that you are prepared to make me a proper apology." "What have I done, aunt Serena?" "Do you ask me? You have forgotten strangely the behaviour due from you to me." "I did not forget it--" said Rotha slowly. "Will you give me an excuse for your conduct, then?" "Yes," said Rotha. "Because, aunt Serena, you had forgotten so utterly the treatment due from you to me." Mrs. Busby flushed a little. Still she commanded herself She always did. "Mamma, she's pretty impudent!" said Antoinette. "I always make allowances, and you must learn to do so, Antoinette, for people who have never learned any manners."