"Such a school as this would do them a world of good," said Lady Lysle.

"Well, I really hope they will come," said Mrs. Ward; "but I quite understand their father's objections. They are evidently very precious treasures, and he has the sort of objection which exists in the minds of many country gentlemen to sending his girls to school."

"Ah," said Aneta, "but there are schools and schools!"

"The girls will be exceedingly rich," said Lady Lysle. "Their mother was a Meredith and belonged to an old county family. She inherits vast wealth _and_ the old family place. Their father is what may be termed a merchant-prince. By-and-by all the money of the parents will go to these girls. They are very nice children, but know nothing whatever of the world. It seems to me a cruel thing that they should be brought up with no knowledge of the great world where they must eventually live."

"I hope they will come here," said Mrs. Ward. "Great wealth means great responsibility. They can make magnificent use of their money. I should be interested to have them."

"I know you would, my dear friend," said Lady Lysle, "and they are really quite sweet girls. Now, come, Aneta; we must not keep Mrs. Ward any longer."

When her visitors had left her Mrs. Ward still remained in the pleasant drawing-room. She sank into a low chair, folded her hands in her lap, and remained very still. Although she was only thirty-five years of age, she had been a widow for over ten years. She had married when quite a young girl, and had lost her husband and child before she was five-and-twenty. It was in her generous and n.o.ble nature to love most pa.s.sionately and all too well. For a time after her terrible trouble she scarcely know how to bear her grief. Then she took it to the one place where such sorrow can be borne--namely, to the foot of the throne of G.o.d; and afterwards it occurred to her to devote her life to the education of others. She was quite well-off, and did not need to work for her living. But work, to a nature such as hers, was essential. She also needed the sympathy of others, and the love of others; and so, aided by her friends, her small but most select school in South Kensington was started.

From the very first it was a success. It was unlike many other schools, for the head-mistress had broader and n.o.bler views of life.

She loved all her girls, and they all loved her; but it was impossible for her not to like some girls more than others, and of all the girls at present at her school Aneta Lysle was the one she really loved best. There was also, it is sad to relate, a girl there whom she did not love, and that girl was Maggie Howland. There was nothing whatever with regard to Maggie that her mistress could lay hold of. She was quite aware of the girl's fascination, and of her powerful influence over her schoolfellows. Nevertheless, she never thought of her without a sense of discomfort.

Maggie was one of the girls who were educated at Aylmer House for a very low fee; for Mrs. Ward was quite rich enough and generous enough to take girls who could not afford her full terms for very much less.

Maggie's fees, therefore, were almost nominal, and no one knew this fact better than Maggie herself and her mother, Mrs. Howland. None of her schoolfellows knew, for she learned just what they did, and had precisely the same advantages. She was treated just like the others.

No one could guess that her circ.u.mstances were different. And certainly Maggie would never tell, but none the less did she in her heart hate her position.

As a matter of fact, Molly and Isabel Tristram were also coming to the school on specially low terms; but no one would know this. Maggie, however, suspected it, and intended, if necessary, to make the fact an added power over her young friends when they all a.s.sembled at Aylmer House.

"Yes," said Mrs. Ward, half-aloud, half to herself, "I don't quite trust Maggie Howland. But I cannot possibly dismiss her from the school. I may win her round to a loftier standard of life, but at present there is no doubt she has not that high ideal in view which I think my other girls aim at."

Between three and four o'clock that day Mrs. Ward received a telegram from Mr. Cardew. It contained the following words:

"After consideration, I have made up my mind to do myself the great honor of confiding my girls to your care. Their mother and I will write to you fully in a day or two."

Mrs. Ward smiled when she received the telegram. "I will do my best for those children," she said to herself.

CHAPTER IX.

THE NEWS.

Mr. Cardew arrived at Meredith Manor very late that evening. The long and happy day had come to an end. The Tristram girls and Maggie Howland had returned to the rectory. Cicely and Merry were having a long, confidential chat together. They were in Merry's bedroom. They had dismissed their maid. They were talking of the pleasures of the day, and in particular were discussing the delightful fact that their beautiful cousin Aneta had wired to say she would be with them in two days' time.

They had not seen Aneta for some years, but they both remembered her vividly. Her memory shone out before them both as something specially dazzling and specially beautiful. Maggie Howland, too, had spoken of Aneta's beauty. Maggie had been told that Aneta was coming, and Maggie had expressed pleasure. Whatever Maggie's private feelings may have been, she was very careful now to express delight at Aneta's appearance at Meredith Manor.

"What a darling she is!" said Merry. "I doubt very much--I suppose it's rank heresy to say so, Cicely, but I really greatly doubt whether I shall ever prefer Aneta to Maggie. What are mere looks, after all, when one possesses such charm as Maggie has? That seems to me a much greater gift."

"We need not compare them, need we?" said Cicely.

"Oh, certainly not," said Merry; "but, Cicely darling, doesn't it seem funny that such a lot of girls who are all to meet in September at Aylmer House should be practically staying with us at the present moment?"

"Yes, indeed," said Cicely. "I feel almost as though I belonged to it, which of course is quite ridiculous, for we shall never by any chance go there."

"Of course not," said Merry, and she sighed.

After a time Cicely said, "I wonder what father went to town for to-day."

"Well, we don't know, so where's the use of troubling?" said Merry.

"I asked mother," said Cicely, "why he went to town, and she said she couldn't tell me; but she got rather red as she spoke."

"Cicely," said Merry after a long pause, "when these glorious holidays come to an end, and the Aylmer House girls have gone to Aylmer House, what shall you and I do?"

"Do," said Cicely--"do? I suppose what we've always done. A fresh governess will be found, and another music-master, and we'll work at our lessons and do the best we can."

Merry gave a deep sigh.

"We'll never talk French like Belle Tristram," she said, "and we'll never play so that any one will care to listen to us. We'll never, never know the world the way the others know it. There seems very little use in being rich when one can't get education."

It was just at that moment that there came a light tap at the girls'

door. Before they could reply, it was opened and Mrs. Cardew came in.

She looked as though she had been crying; nevertheless, there was a joyful sort of triumph on her face. She said quickly, "I thought, somehow, you two naughty children would not be in bed, and I told father that I'd come up on the chance of finding you. Father has come back from London, and has something important to tell you. Will you come down with me at once?"

"Oh mother! mother! what is it?" said Merry in a tone of excitement which was slightly mingled with awe.

"Your father will tell you, my darling," said Mrs. Cardew.

She put her arm round Merry's slight waist and held Cicely's hand, and they came down to the great drawing-room where Mr. Cardew was waiting for them.

He was pacing slowly up and down the room, his hands folded behind his back. His face was slightly tired, and yet he too wore that odd expression of mingled triumph and pain which Mrs. Cardew's eyes expressed.

When the mother and the girls entered the room he at once shut the door. Mr. Cardew looked first of all at Merry. He held out his hand to her. "Come to me, little girl," he said.

She flew to him and put her arms round his neck. She kissed him several times. "Oh dad! dad!" she said, "I know I was downright horrid and unkind and perfectly dreadful yesterday, and I don't--no, I _don't_--want to leave you and mother. If I was discontented then, I am not now."

Merry believed her own words at that moment, for the look on her father's face had struck to her very heart.

He disengaged her pretty arms very gently, and, still holding her hand, went up to Cicely, who was clinging to her mother. "I have just got some news for you both," he said. "You know, of course, that Miss Beverley cannot teach you any longer?"

"Poor old Beverley," said Cicely; "we are so sorry. But you'll find another good governess for us, won't you, dad?"

"I am afraid I can't," said Mr. Cardew, "So I sent for you to-night to tell you that I have broken the resolve which I always meant to keep."

"You have what?" said Merry.

"I have turned my back on a determination which I made when you were both very little girls, and to-day I went up to town and saw Mrs.

Ward."

"Oh!" said Merry. She turned white and dropped her father's hand, and, clasping her own two hands tightly together, gazed at him as though she would devour his face.

"Well, it's all settled, children," said Mr. Cardew, "and: when September comes you will go with your friends Molly and Belle to Aylmer House."