She fell suddenly silent, and a dreamy look came into her eyes, and a smile lingered round her mouth. Margaret, noting it, knew that the smile had nothing whatever to do with her in spite of the expression of gratitude towards her to which she had just given utterance. It was in thoughts of herself alone that Eleanor was wrapped; dreams of her own rosy future were floating before the vision of her mind, and she saw herself successful, famous, her name on every one's lips, one of the world-renowned singers of the century. No wonder that in those entrancing, soaring dreams there was no room for thought of the pale, grave, silent girl beside her. But presently, the smile still lingering round the corners of her mouth, Eleanor came out of her dreams, and turning to Margaret with one of the rapid transitions of mood that Margaret found so bewildering, she began to laugh at herself. "Do you know, Margaret," she said, "I believe I am the most egotistical person that ever existed. Here have I been raving about myself and about my future greatness, and I have not even asked you one single, solitary question about yourself. And now, having told you how very, very much I like being you, tell me how much you like being me." But now that her opportunity to speak had arrived, Margaret could not for the moment make use of it. An odd, choking sensation came into her throat, tears gathered in her eyes, and before she could prevent it, a big drop rolled silently down her face. "Good gracious!" Eleanor exclaimed, leaning across the little round table so as to get a better view of Margaret's face. "Is it as bad as all that?" Still Margaret was unable to answer, unless a second tear rolling down from her other eye could be taken as an answer. "Oh dear! oh dear!" said Eleanor, fairly aghast at Margaret's unexpected behaviour. "Whatever can be done!" All the radiant happiness was gone from her face, and she looked utterly disconcerted and taken aback. Then Margaret found her voice. "Oh, I want to change!" she said, in a voice broken with sobs. "I want to be myself again." "But you can't!" Eleanor exclaimed sharply. "That is out of the question. How can we change now?" "By telling everybody everything," Margaret said. "They cannot do anything very dreadful to us, can they?" Eleanor gave a short and very mirthless laugh. "They can't do anything very dreadful to you--no," she said. Then in a perfectly expressionless voice, "You have quite made up your mind, then?" "Oh, quite," Margaret said, eagerly relieved beyond measure to find that Eleanor had received her announcement so quietly. "And how do you mean to set about it?" Eleanor said in the same stony sort of voice. "Am I to tell Mrs. Murray first, or are you to tell Mrs. Danvers?"