"Oh, no, she doesn't! She thinks of no one in all the world but Irene."
"I am surprised at that," said Lucy. "I imagined I had put a spoke in that wheel. I was very much amazed when I saw them thicker than ever the very next day. She is the sort of child who would tell tales out of school. I know the sort—detestable! She is a little pitcher with long ears. She is all that is vulgar and second-rate."
"Perhaps she is," said Phyllis, "although I never thought so. I thought her a pretty, sweet little creature. I think she is really fond of Irene, and Irene is sincerely devoted to her."
"Well, Phyllis, I will confide in you. A few weeks ago, when Rosamund and Irene took themselves off to The Follies to spend the afternoon, I took the opportunity of having a chat with little Miss Agnes Frost, and there and then I enlightened her with regard to certain stories which I knew for a fact to be true. I can tell you I frightened her a good bit. She is rather timid—I never knew any one more so. Her face got as white as death. Of course, I told her she was not to tell any one, but I didn't greatly care. I know for a fact she was nervous for the rest of the day, and that evening she asked poor old Frosty to let her sleep in her bed."
"But she didn't sleep with her, all the same," said Phyllis, "for I happened to see her running back to her own room quite late, after the rest of us were supposed to be in bed. And the next day she was greater friends than ever with Irene."
"What a nuisance things are!" said Lucy. "But now I am absolutely determined to punish Irene and Rosamund in the only way in which I can punish them. Rosamund is conceited enough to believe that she has made a reformation in Irene's character. I know better. I know that Irene is a perfectly horrid girl. If you could only have heard Miss Carter talk about her when she first went to the Singletons'! And we had a servant once from their house, and she told us some most ghastly tales. It is impossible to suppose for a second that Irene is a nice girl; but between Rosamund—who, I must own, is very plucky—and this mite Agnes, who is devoted to her, she is quite quiet and amenable, and she is no doubt passionately fond of that stupid, inane little Agnes. Now, I mean to get Agnes from her. You must help me, Phyllis. How are we to manage it?"
"It seems hardly worth while," said Phyllis.
"All right, Phyllis, you can please yourself. There are others who would help me—Agnes Sparkes, for instance."
"Oh! if you must have some one, I am quite as good as another," said Phyllis Flower.
"Well, you know that promise of mine that we should go to London together. My dear aunt, Mrs. Brett, is going to town, and she says that she will take me and any special friend I like as my companion, and she will show me all over the place: the Tower, the Houses of Parliament, and Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul's, and all the rest. And I mean to go to a theatre. Were you ever at a really big theatre in the whole course of your life, Phyllis?"