"No, no, no!" she said. "There's a pool at the bottom of the garden, and there are water-lilies all around it. We'll go, both of us, and look at ourselves there; that will be much prettier."
"As you please. I am quite indifferent; only I want you to respect yourself, Irene."
"Respect myself? But then, no one else does."
"Well, I intend to respect you, and I can only do it by your respecting yourself. Come along; let us look at ourselves in the pool. I am considered fairly good-looking—I don't pretend to deny it; but I am nothing to you to-day, for you gave me a very tiring night."
"So I did, you poor dear! This white dress is rather nice, but I wouldn't wear it for mother for all the world; I only wear it now. Now then, come along."
The two raced downstairs; the servants peeped out from different corners in astonishment. Miss Irene, who would make such a show of herself, was absolutely pretty in her shady hat of softest white, and her white dress to match, and that face, which, notwithstanding all her naughtiness, was and must ever be beautiful above ordinary faces.
By-and-by the girls reached the pool. They both fell on their knees, and Rosamund desired Irene to gaze at her reflection.
"Here are some forget-me-nots," said Rosamund. "I am going to make a wreath to put round your hair. Take your hat off."
She made a little wreath in a few minutes, and twined them through Irene's curling locks.
"Now look again. What do you see?"