"Money," said Sibyl, "what do you mean?"

"This frock is money; you look very nice in it. Be sure, now, you
don't spot it. It would be wicked, just as if you were throwing
sovereigns into the fire."

"I don't understand," said Sibyl; "I wish it wasn't a grand frock. Did
you bring any of my common, common frocks, nursie?"

"I should think not, indeed. Your fine lady mother would be angry if
she saw you looking a show."

"If you speak again in that tone of my mother I'll slap you," said
Sibyl.

"Highty-tighty!" said the nurse; "your spirit is almost past bearing.
You need to be broke in."

"And so do you," answered Sibyl. "If mother is good you are not, and
I'm not, so we both must be broke in; but I've got a bit of a temper.
I know that. Nursie, when you were a little girl did you have a bit of
a temper of your own?"

"That I did. I was a handful, my mother used to say."

"Then we _has_ something in common," said Sibyl, her eyes sparkling.
"I'm a handful, too. I'm off to the schoolroom."

"There never was such a child," thought the woman as Sibyl dashed
away, banging the door after her; "she's not shy, and she's as sweet
as sweet can be, and yet she's a handful of spirit, of uppishness and
contrariness. Well, God bless her, whatever she is. How did that
heartless mother come by her? I can understand her being the master's
child, but her mother's! Dear me, I'm often sorry when I think how
mistook the poor little thing is in that woman she thinks so perfect."

Sibyl, quite happy, her heart beating high with excitement, poked her
radiant little face round the schoolroom door. There were three
children already in the room--Mabel, Gus, and Freda St. Claire. They
were Lord Grayleigh's children, and were handsome, and well cared for,
and now looked with curiosity at Sibyl.

"Oh, you're the little girl," said Mabel, who was twelve years of
age. She raised her voice in a languid tone.

"Yes, I _are_ the little girl," said Sibyl. She came forward with
bold, confident steps, and looked at the tea table.

"Where is my place?" she said. "Is it laid for me? I am the visitor."

Gus, aged ten, who had been somewhat inclined to sulk when Sibyl
appeared, now smiled, and pulled out a chair.

"Sit down," he said; "you had better sit there, near Mabel; she's
pouring out tea. She's the boss, you know."

"What's a boss?" said Sibyl.

"You must be a silly not to know what a boss is."

"I aren't no more silly than you are