"Dear me!" Willy said, as they left the house; "she is worse than you, Ella. At first I thought her so pretty, and now I find she is only a little spoiled thing. However, we will soon teach her better, won't we, Ella?"
Ella, who had possessed herself of Irene's hand, said,—
"You must not be so rude to Dorothy as you are to me, Willy, or you will make her cry."
"No, I'll cure her of crying. But here we are. This is Villa Lucia."
Irene followed Willy into the house, and very soon Irene felt she was no longer lonely—a stranger in a strange land.
Irene had not seen her grannie for some years, and, with the instinct of childhood, she had discovered, without being told, that her father did not care much for her grannie. He rarely mentioned her, and, indeed, he always called her step-mother's mother "grannie" when he had occasion to write of her.
Till Irene had seen Lady Burnside she felt no difference between them. Mrs. Roscoe was a very grand, fashionable lady, who had called on her at Mrs. Baker's sometimes, and sent her large boxes of chocolate and French sweets.
But that did not make Irene feel as if she belonged to her; and now, when the gentle lady by the fire rose to greet her and folded her in a warm embrace, Irene felt a strange choking sensation in her throat, and when she looked up at her grannie she saw tears were on her cheeks.
"I feel as if I had come home," she said, simply, "and it is so nice."
Happily for every one, a loud voice was heard at the door—"Let me in! let me in!" And when Ella ran to open it, there was Baby Bob, who came trotting across the room to Lady Burnside, and said,—