He made his headquarters at Silverton, and during the next two months modified his opinions so far as to confess to his sister Jane that Lilias was a much more sensible woman than he had believed her, and had her children well in hand. He even allowed that Dolores was improved, and owed much to her kindness; and when the first sting of the exposure was over, he could see that the treatment had been far from injudicious as regarded the girl’s own character. He was even glad that warm love and friendship had grown up towards her aunt and cousins; but all this left his purpose unchanged; although, after the first, nothing was said about it, Dolores tried to forget it, and hoped that the sight of her going on well and peaceably would convince him of the inexpediency of disturbing her. She could not even mention it to Mysie, lest the dread should become a reality by being uttered. So no more passed on the subject till it became necessary to take her outfit in hand, and he also wished to take her to Beechcroft, that the old family home which he regarded with fresh tenderness might be impressed on her memory. Then, though she never durst directly oppose the fate which he destined for her, she surprised him by a violent burst of tears and sobbing, and an entreaty that he would not take her away from Aunt Lily and Mysie a moment sooner than could be helped. She clung to everything, even to the guinea-pigs, and she was the first in the Easter holidays to beg for the ‘Thorn Fortress.’ Indeed, Mysie was a little shocked at her grief, as disloyal and unfilial. ‘One ought not to mind going anywhere with one’s father,’ she said; ‘we all thought it a great honour for Phyllis and Alethea.’ ‘They are grown up!’ said Dolores, ‘and Aunt Lily does get into one so! Oh, don’t say there’s Aunt Phyllis. I hate the very name of her.’ ‘She must be nice,’ said Mysie, ‘Whenever the ‘grown-ups’ are pleased with me they say I am getting like her, as if it was the best thing one could be.’ ‘But I don’t want Mysie old and grown up, I want my Mysie now, as you are!--And you’ll forget and leave off writing, like Maude Sefton.’ ‘Never!’ cried Mysie. ‘Eight across the world you will always be my own twin cousin.’ The wishes of the girl were so far fulfilled that Lady Merrifield took her to London to provide her outfit, and Mysie accompanied them. A room and its dressing-room received the three at old Mrs. Merrifield’s, and the two cousins thought their close quarters ineffably precious. Mysie was introduced to Maude Sefton, who seemed entirely unconscious of her treachery to friendship. ‘One had so little time, and couldn’t always be writing,’ she said, when Dolores reproached her; ‘exercises were enough to tire out one’s hand!’