pose than gentle, kind, clever Mrs Macintyre?
If George Lennox paid down the rent for Ardshiel, or, in other words,
for the Palace of the Kings, and if Mrs Constable put down five hundred
pounds for the redecorating of the grounds, and if the great Duke
allowed them to keep the old, magnificent furniture, which had lain
unused within those walls for over twenty years--and this he had
practically promised to do, drawn thereto by Mrs Macintyre's sweet,
pathetic smile and face--why, the deed was done, and she, Agnes, the
noble and generous, need only add a few extra hundred pounds for the
purchase of beds and school furniture. Thus the greatest school in the
whole of Scotland would be opened under wonderfully noble auspices.
Yes, all was going well, and the good woman felt better than pleased.
Her great fame would spread wider and faster than ever. She lived to
do good; she was doing good--good on a very considerable
scale--supported by the highest nobility in the land.

Miss Delacour was not quite sure whether the school should be a mixed
school or not. She waited for circumstances to settle that point.
Mixed schools were becoming the fashion, and to a certain extent she
approved of them; but she would not give her vote in that direction
until she had a talk with her brother-in-law, and with Mrs Constable.
Ardshiel was within easy reach of Edinburgh and Glasgow, but Miss
Delacour made up her mind that the school, when established, should be
a boarding-school. The very most she would permit would be the return
of the children who lived within a convenient distance to their homes
for week-end visits. But on that point also she was by no means sure.
Providence must decide, she said softly to herself. She came,
therefore, to The Garden determined to leave the matter, as she said,
to Providence; whereas, in reality, she left it to George Lennox and
his sister, Mrs Constable.

At any cost these people must do their parts. Be they faddists, or be
they not, their children must be saved. Could there in all the world
be a more horrible girl than Hollyhock--or, as her real name was,
Jacqueline? Even Lucy (always called Jasmine) was an impertinent
little thing; but what _could_ you expect from such a man as George
Lennox?

Miss Delacour was, however, the sort of person who held her soul in
great patience. After Jasmine had left her she stood and looked out of
the window, observed the lake on which those silly little girl