Mrs. Lyle looked at her youngest daughter imploringly.
"Queenie, how often have I scolded you for aggravating Sydney? Apologize to her immediately."
Queenie looked at Sydney's tearful eyes and flushed cheeks, and her tender little heart melted at once. She crossed over and put her round, white arms about Sydney's stately neck.
"Sister, do forgive me," she said, sweetly. "I did not mean a word of it. Your manners are simply perfection, and I only wish that mine were half as polished!"
"You should cultivate yourself," answered Sydney, coldly, as she put the clinging arms away from her neck, "I am ashamed of your hoydenish manners."
"I will try to cultivate myself, Sydney, indeed I will," answered Queenie, innocently. "I am so young yet, you know; I have time to learn a great many things!"
Sydney bit her lip and made no reply. There was nothing she envied so much as Queenie's tender youth, and to have it thrust upon her notice like that, however innocently, was unendurable. The silence that fell was becoming awkward, when a servant entered the room with a small parcel which she laid in Queenie's hand.
"A small boy left it at the door for you," she said, as she withdrew.
Queenie stared at the parcel in bewilderment. It had a familiar look.
"Open it, my dear," said Mrs. Lyle, curiously.