"I suppose not, but she is quite sweet to me. Only I feel certain that when your influence is withdrawn we shall have the old dreadful things occurring again."
"I don't think so, indeed. But do tell me what mother has said."
"She says that you are to go back to the Merrimans' for the next term; but after that you can come and live with us if we want you. She suggested that we should take a house for the winter in town, so that you and Irene should have the advantage of the best masters possible to be obtained, and the best literature classes, and the best concerts. I am quite agreeable, for I am tired of living at The Follies."
"You ought to take Irene away for the holidays, and of course Miss Frost will go with you," said Rosamund. "I wish I could stay. I would with a heart and a half; but I know father and mother would be terribly put out."
"I feel very despondent," said Lady Jane; "for although Irene is very much improved, there is a lot of the old nature in her still; and when you are gone, even the Singletons will be away, for they are going to the seaside for the month of August—to Herne Bay, I believe. We shall have no one at home, and Irene and I alone at the seaside would make a terrible pair."
"I will write to mother. Something ought to be done," said Rosamund very thoughtfully. "Leave it to me," she continued. "What I have been thinking is this: that Irene ought to come with me to the Merrimans' for one term."
"You mean that I am to part with her—that she is not to live with me? Besides, would the Merrimans take a child with such a character?"
"She is quite a good character now, and it would be just the very thing. It would be the making of her. Then, perhaps, afterwards we might go together to a good foreign school and learn languages properly. I am sure it would do her a lot of good. But I will think about the holidays."
Rosamund felt rather old and worn. A very heavy burden had been laid on her young shoulders. She, a girl of only fifteen years of age, was more or less responsible for the entire life, the entire future, of a brilliant little sprite like Irene Ashleigh.
The next day was Sunday, and it arose in great beauty and majesty. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky, the flowers bloomed everywhere, the birds sang, the heat was excessive, the gardens looked their best. Visitors came and went. Irene, no longer in the objectionable red frock, but now dressed as a pretty young girl of her age ought to be dressed, walked by Rosamund's side and chatted about books, about music, about all sorts of things, the existence of which she had scarcely known a few weeks ago. Her intellect was of such a keen and brilliant order that she grasped knowledge almost as easily as she imbibed her food. Rosamund felt more and more proud of her.