So off the friends went together--for of course they were to be friends. The Miss Mohun had been uttered in a tone that clearly meant to be asked to drop it, so they were to be Dolores and Constance henceforth, if not Dolly and Cons. Dolores was such a lovely name that Constance could not mangle it, and was sure there was some reason for it. The girl had, in fact, been named after a Spanish lady, whom her mother had known and admired in early girlhood, and to whom she had made a promise of naming her first daughter after her. No doubt Dolores did not know that Mrs. Mohun had regretted the childish promise which she had felt bound to keep in spite of her husband’s dislike to the name, which he declared would be a misfortune to the child. Dolores was really proud of its peculiarity, and delighted to have any one to sympathize with her, in that and a great deal besides, which she communicated to her new friend in the window-seat of her room. When the two ladies went home, Constance told her sister that ‘dear little Dolores was a remarkable character, sadly misunderstood among those common-place people, the Merrifields, and unjustly used, too, and she should do her best for her!’ Meantime Gillian, finding herself not wanted, had repaired to the schoolroom. ‘Oh, it is of no use,’ sighed Mysie, disconsolately. ‘I’ve ever so much morning’s work to make up, too. And I never shall! I’ve muzzled my head!’ By which remarkable expression Mysie signified that fatigue, crying, and dinner had made her brains dull and heavy; but Gillian was a sensible elder sister. ‘Don’t try your sum yet, then,’ she said. ‘Practise your scales for half an hour, while I do my algebra, and then we’ll go over your German verbs together. I’ll tell Miss Vincent, and she wont’ mind, and I think mamma will be pleased if you try.’ Gillian was too much used to noises not to be able to work an equation, and prepare her Virgil, to the sound of scales, and Mysie was a good deal restored by them and by hope. So when at length Constance had been summoned by her sister, who tore herself away from the arrangements, being bound to five-o’clock tea elsewhere, Mysie was discovered with a face still rather woe-begone, but hopeful and persevering, and though there still was a ‘bill of parcels’ where 11 and 3/4 lbs. of mutton at 13 and 1/2d. per lb. refused to come right, Lady Merrifield kissed her, said she had been a diligent child, and sent her off prancing in bliss to the old ‘still-room’ stove, where they were allowed a fire, basins, spoons, and strainers, and where the sugar lay in a snowy heap, and the blackberries in a sanguine pile. ‘There’s partiality!’ thought Dolores, and scowled, as she stood at the front door still gazing after Constance. ‘Won’t you come, Dolly?’ said Mysie. ‘Or haven’t you learnt your lessons?’ ‘No,’ said Dolly, making one answer serve for both questions. ‘Oh! then you can’t. Shall I ask mamma to let you off?’