It had never entered Miss Merivale's head that Rose, her pet and darling,
her little nurse and helper, could be longing to live with Pauline in
London; and how could Rose have guessed that her aunt's thoughts were
fixed on Rhoda Sampson, the girl Pauline had spoken of in such
contemptuous terms? She supposed her aunt was asleep, she sat so still in
the corner of the carriage with her eyes closed, and she took good care
not to disturb her. She was glad to be free to dwell on the delightful
visions Pauline had called up for her.

Miss Merivale roused herself as the carriage turned in at the gates of the
drive. The March twilight had gathered thickly, and lights were shining
from the windows of the low, irregular house. They could see them
twinkling through the trees.

"I wonder if Tom is back from Guilford yet, Rosie. He will scold us for
being late. Oh, how sweet and fresh the air is here! Don't you pity those
girls cooped up in that stuffy little flat? You must not promise to stay a
week with them, Rosie. You would find two days quite long enough."

Rose was saved from attempting to answer this by the carriage stopping
before the wide porch. A short, fair-haired young man, with a pleasant
face and merry blue eyes, was waiting to open the door.

"Auntie, you have no business to be out as late as this and an east wind
blowing," he said, in a playful scolding tone. "Rose, you should not have
allowed it. But come in. There is a jolly fire in the dining-room, and tea
is quite ready. Next time you go to London, I mean to go with you."

The dining-room looked a picture of comfort, with the curtains drawn, and