"Oh, certainly not," said Merry; "but, Cicely darling, doesn't it seem funny that such a lot of girls who are all to meet in September at Aylmer House should be practically staying with us at the present moment?" "Yes, indeed," said Cicely. "I feel almost as though I belonged to it, which of course is quite ridiculous, for we shall never by any chance go there." "Of course not," said Merry, and she sighed. After a time Cicely said, "I wonder what father went to town for to-day." "Well, we don't know, so where's the use of troubling?" said Merry. "I asked mother," said Cicely, "why he went to town, and she said she couldn't tell me; but she got rather red as she spoke." "Cicely," said Merry after a long pause, "when these glorious holidays come to an end, and the Aylmer House girls have gone to Aylmer House, what shall you and I do?" "Do," said Cicely--"do? I suppose what we've always done. A fresh governess will be found, and another music-master, and we'll work at our lessons and do the best we can." Merry gave a deep sigh. "We'll never talk French like Belle Tristram," she said, "and we'll never play so that any one will care to listen to us. We'll never, never know the world the way the others know it. There seems very little use in being rich when one can't get education." It was just at that moment that there came a light tap at the girls' door. Before they could reply, it was opened and Mrs. Cardew came in. She looked as though she had been crying; nevertheless, there was a joyful sort of triumph on her face. She said quickly, "I thought, somehow, you two naughty children would not be in bed, and I told father that I'd come up on the chance of finding you. Father has come back from London, and has something important to tell you. Will you come down with me at once?" "Oh mother! mother! what is it?" said Merry in a tone of excitement which was slightly mingled with awe. "Your father will tell you, my darling," said Mrs. Cardew. She put her arm round Merry's slight waist and held Cicely's hand, and they came down to the great drawing-room where Mr. Cardew was waiting for them. He was pacing slowly up and down the room, his hands folded behind his back. His face was slightly tired, and yet he too wore that odd expression of mingled triumph and pain which Mrs. Cardew's eyes expressed. When the mother and the girls entered the room he at once shut the door. Mr. Cardew looked first of all at Merry. He held out his hand to her. "Come to me, little girl," he said. She flew to him and put her arms round his neck. She kissed him several times. "Oh dad! dad!" she said, "I know I was downright horrid and unkind and perfectly dreadful yesterday, and I don't--no, I _don't_--want to leave you and mother. If I was discontented then, I am not now." Merry believed her own words at that moment, for the look on her father's face had struck to her very heart.