e! You might have got me
into an awful scrape."

"I could not help it, Flora. You should not have left me with such
people. They are not at all in our set. Father would not wish me to
know them."

"Oh, nonsense! They are as good as anybody."

"They are not; they are not good at all. They are vulgar and horrid. I
am surprised you should have taken me to see such people."

"Well, well, child, it's all over now. You'll never tell about to-day,
will you, Ermengarde?"

"Oh, I suppose not, Flora."

"You _suppose_ not? But you must promise faithfully. You don't know
what mischief you'll make, if you tell. Promise now, Ermengarde;
promise that you won't tell."

"Very well, I promise," replied Ermie, in a tired-out voice.

"That's a darling. I knew you were a pretty, sweet little pet. If ever
I can do anything for you, Ermie, I will. Kiss me now, love. I hear
their voices in the hall, and I must fly."

Flora rushed noisily out of the room, and Ermie breathed a sigh of
relief.

That evening at dinner the stout old gentleman was very kind to the
little girl who, with her hair down her back, and in a very simple
muslin frock, sat by his side. In fact he took a great deal more
notice of her than he did of the richly-attired young lady of the
previous evening. In the course of the meal he imparted one piece of
information to Ermengarde, which put her into extremely good spirits.
He told her that Miss St. Leger and her mamma were leaving by a very
early train on the following morning. Ermengarde quite laughed when
she heard this, and the old gentleman gave her a quick pleased wink,
as much as to say, "I thought you were too sensible to be long
influenced by the flattery of that young person."

Flora herself avoided Ermengarde all through the evening. She left her
entirely to the society of her child friend Lilias, and finally went
to bed without even bidding her good-by.

CHAPTER XX.

WHAT DID BASIL MEAN?

It was rather late on the evening of the second day after Ermengarde
and her father had gone to Glendower, that Marjorie, who had been
playing with the nursery children, and dragging the big baby about,
and otherwise disporting herself after the fashion which usually
induces great fatigue, crept slowly upstairs to her room.

She was really awfully tired, for the day had been a hot one, and
nurse had a headache, and Clara, the nursery-maid, was away on a
holiday. So Marjorie had scarcely breathing time al