"Why, she is somebody rather—I mean she is beautiful, very beautiful," said Irene in a low voice. "But she is not me."
"She is you. Look again. Don't you see that soft little mouth, and that nose, so beautifully formed, and those bright, bright eyes, and that hair, and the whole thing? It was God who made you, Irene, and He made you beautiful, and beautiful people have a great gift."
Irene ceased to look at herself. She flung off the forget-me-not wreath and turned to Rosamund.
"Now, what do you mean by all this lecturing?" she said.
"Beautiful people have a great responsibility," continued Rosamund in a stout voice. "They are sent into the world to make it better. As far as I can make out, up to the present time you have done nothing whatever but make the world worse. You have never, so far as I can tell, been kind to your mother. You have made the servants most unhappy. You have done your utmost to render your governesses' position impossible."
"Because I hate them, and don't want to learn."
"Not want to learn," said Rosamund, "with that forehead so full, so intelligent? Why, you could learn in a flash. You could get knowledge with the utmost ease, and you would love it when once you began. If I am to be your friend you have got to turn over a new leaf. There, I have said enough about yourself for the present. Just let us walk about until tea-time."
"No; I want to go in the boat."
"We won't go in the boat till after tea. I want to talk to you."
"I wonder why I am obeying you?" said Irene, slipping her hand inside Rosamund's.