er father,
through the advice of friends, had tried the experiment of sending her
away to school, once to an Eastern finishing school, and once to a
convent on the Pacific coast, only to have her return shortly by request
of the school, more wilful than when she had gone away. And now she
ruled supreme in her father's home, disliked by most of the servants
save those whom she chose to favor because they could be made to serve
her purposes. Her father, engrossed in his business and away much of the
time, was bound up in her and saw few of her faults. It is true that
when a fault of hers did come to his notice, however, he dealt with it
most severely, and grieved over it in secret, for the girl was much like
the mother whose loss had emptied the world of its joy for him. But Rosa
knew well how to manage her father and wheedle him, and also how to hide
her own doings from his knowledge.

Rosa's eyes, dimples, pink cheeks, and coquettish little mouth were not
idle in these days. She knew how to have every pupil at her feet and
ready to obey her slightest wish. She wielded her power to its fullest
extent as the summer drew near, and day after day saw a slow torture for
Margaret. Some days the menacing air of insurrection fairly bristled in
the room, and Margaret could not understand how some of her most devoted
followers seemed to be in the forefront of battle, until one day she
looked up quickly and caught the lynx-eyed glance of Rosa as she turned
from smiling at the boys in the back seat. Then she understood. Rosa had
cast her spell upon the boys, and they were acting under it and not of
their own clear judgment. It was the world-old battle of sex, of woman
against woman for the winning of the man to do her will. Margaret, using
all the charm of her lovely personality to uphold standards of right,
truth, purity, high living, and earnest thinking; Rosa striving with her
impish beauty to lure them into _any_ mischief so it foiled the other's
purposes. And one day Margaret faced the girl alone, looking steadily
into her eyes with sad, searching gaze, and almost a yearning to try to
lead the pretty child to finer things.

"Rosa, why do you always act as if I were your enemy?" she said, sadly.

"Because you are!" said Rosa, with a toss of her independent head.

"Indeed I'm not, dear child," she said, putting out her hand to lay it
on the girl's shoulder kindly. "I want to be your friend."

"I'm not a child!" snapped Rosa,