Part 30 (2/2)

Lady Russell kissed Ermengarde and left her. She took no notice of the little girl's sullen face, nor of her rude manner. She went away looking what she was, a gracious motherly woman.

”I am deeply sorry, both for Ermengarde and her father,” she said to herself. ”Anyone can see that the poor man does not know how to manage all those children. Marjorie takes after her sweet mother, but Ermengarde! she is not an easy child to influence, and yet what a beautiful face she has!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN THE TOILS.

The summer at Glendower was always a gay time. The house was usually full of guests, and as there were horses and carriages, and a yacht and a sailboat, as well as two or three rowboats, the guests had certainly all possible advantages of locomotion.

The next morning was a glorious one, and Lilias and Ermie, after breakfasting together in Lilias's own special boudoir, put on their shady hats, and went out to walk about the grounds. The air was so delicious, and Lilias was so sweet and bright and unselfish, that it was impossible for Ermie not to feel in the best of spirits.

She ceased to desire to be grown up, and was satisfied to run races with Lilias in the simple pink cambric frock, which suited her infinitely better than the gorgeous _chiffon_.

Ermengarde's life was not without care just then, but at this moment she forgot her anxieties about Susy and Basil, and the broken miniature. She forgot her mortification of the night before, and looked what she was, a happy child.

Lilias was talking eagerly about the plans for the day's entertainment. The whole party were to drive to a certain point about eight miles from Glendower. There they were to picnic, and afterward, with the tide in their favor, would return home by water.

”And mother says I may drive my own ponies,” said Lilias. ”You haven't seen my Shetlands yet, have you, Ermie? Oh, they are such lovely pets, and father has given me real silver bells for their harness.”

Ermengarde was about to make a reply, when a voice was heard calling Lilias.

”I'll be back in a minute, Ermie,” said Lilias. ”I suppose mother wants me to arrange about something. Don't go far away; I'll be with you directly.”

She ran off, and Ermengarde, finding a rustic bench under a tree, sat down and looked around her. She had scarcely done so, when she was joined by Flora St. Leger.

”I saw you alone, and I rushed out to you, my love,” said the young lady. ”I want to speak to you so badly. Where can we go to be by ourselves?”

”But I am waiting here for Lilias,” said Ermengarde.

”Oh, never mind. What does it matter whether Lilias finds you here when she comes back or not? She doesn't really want you, and I do.”

Now this was all immensely flattering, for Flora was quite grown up, and Ermengarde had already lost her silly little heart to her.

”I should like to oblige you,” she said.

”Well, _do_ oblige me! Let us fly down this side-walk. There's a shrubbery at the farther end, where we shall be quite alone. Come, give me your hand.”

Ermengarde could not resist. A moment later she and Flora were pacing up and down in the shrubbery.

”Ermengarde,” said Miss St. Leger eagerly, ”_are_ you going to that stupid, stupid picnic to-day?”

”Why, of course,” said Ermengarde, looking up in astonishment.

”You may call me Flora if you like, my dear love. What a sweet, pretty pet you are! Now that I look at you by daylight, I think it's a perfect sin that, with a face like yours, you should have to wear short frocks.”

Ermie sighed. Miss St. Leger's tone was full of delicious sympathy, and when the next moment she slipped her arm round the little girl's waist, Ermie experienced quite a thrill of delight.

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