Ada sprang up. She was but a child, and the idea of a journey to the south of France was full of untold delight. Then to escape from the tiresome lessons, the dull way of life, the bother about money, the fidgets about keeping two fires burning, looked most attractive.
"Thank you, darling mother," she exclaimed with unusual enthusiasm, throwing her arms round her mother. "I shall come back ever so much brighter, and able to do heaps more things."
"It is very easy to settle things in that way," said Salome. "You are exactly like Raymond—intensely selfish."
"Don't be jealous, Salome," Ada exclaimed. "You knew the Monroes first, and if Eva had taken a fancy to you, you would have been only too pleased; but you see Eva happens to like me best."
"Oh, my dear children, do not let there be any uncomfortable feeling. Though we are poor, let us be loving."
Salome's heart was full, and rising hastily, she dropped Lady Monroe's letter, and left the room. Poor child, it did seem to her, as to many another, that effort for others was in vain; that those who keep self and selfish interests well to the front are, after all, those who succeed best, not only in getting what they wish, and escaping disagreeables and worries, but in winning affection and admiration from every one.
"I have done my very best ever since dear father died. I have tried to do everything, and yet Ada is the most cared for. I believe mother does really love her best. Father—father—he cared for me, and now he is gone."
"Why, Sal, what is the matter?" It was Reginald's voice, as he came into the dining-room, where, in an arm-chair, by the dying embers of the fire, which was not allowed to burn up, Salome was sobbing out her trouble. "Why, old Sal, what is it?"
"Ada is going off to Cannes with Lady Monroe, and never thinks about me. I shall have twice as much to do—the children always on my hand; and I shall never be able to finish my story. I have not minded leaving mother with Ada; but now—and she is so selfish, Reginald."
"So is half the world, it seems to me, Sal. Cheer up. I am glad, for one, you are not going to the south of France. I tell you that. I cannot get on without you, nor any one else either; so that is very certain. Come, Sal, don't be down-hearted. It will make one less here, and Ada is not cut out for our present life. You and I do very well; and I know I have got the best of it at school, and have no time to sit and mope."