Mrs. Desmond rose from a low chair as her husband entered the drawing-room. She was dressed in a pretty tea-gown, that well became her tall, slight figure. Soft lace was arranged on her head, and the shaded red light played on her diamond rings. She looked the very embodiment of delicately-nurtured, serene, English womanhood, and so the colonel thought as his eyes fell upon her. "What has kept you? I have been anxious about you," she said, addressing him in a gently-reproachful voice. "You must be cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire, and I will ring for tea." "My dear," returned her husband, coming forward and kissing her, "how glad I am to see you back! The house seems like home again. As for tea, the truth is, Helen and I--well, we have been having a little fun on our own account. Come here, Helen, and tell your mother what we have been doing. We sent Miss Walker about her business, didn't we? And then--." The colonel paused, and Mrs. Desmond then perceived Helen standing half-timidly, half-defiantly near the door. "You there, Helen!" she said coldly. "How often am I to tell you that I will not have you come into the drawing-room with your walking clothes on! Go and take them off at once. When I was a child--." "It is really my fault this time, wife," put in the colonel, who dreaded a scene with Helen, and who had, besides, begun to grow a little weary of his wife's reminiscences of her childhood. "Nonsense!" returned Mrs. Desmond with quite unusual asperity. "Helen knows my rules. She is quite old enough to understand that her duty is to conform to them, and stay!"--as Helen was turning away abruptly--"don't go while I am speaking. Have you learned your lessons for to-morrow?" "No." "Then ask Martha to put a lamp in the school-room, and set to work at once. We shall not expect to see you this evening." "I won't set to work at once--I won't, I won't, I won't," muttered Helen under her breath. Her passion was rising; but for her father's sake, her father who had been so good to her, and who she dimly understood was responsible for her lapse from duty that afternoon, she strove to control herself. Knowing that her only chance was in escape, she made a dash at the door; but in so doing the top of her violin came into contact with a small china-laden table, and a valuable Dresden figure fell to the ground with a crash. Mrs. Desmond, fairly roused from her wonted calm, rushed forward, uttering a low cry. Her china was very dear to her. She suffered no one but herself to touch it, and it was her boast that each piece had in her keeping remained as intact as it had been in her grandmother's time. "Oh, Helen!" she cried, "what have you done? My poor little shepherd is broken. You might as well have broken the shepherdess too. The pair is spoilt--utterly spoilt!"