ous on the subject, for it is my
wish to carry out the directions of my dear cousin Frances in all
particulars. Now, try to be very, very good to your cousins, Fan; and
remember how lonely they are, and how differently they have been brought
up from you."

Fanny could not speak, for she was crying too hard. Sir John presently
went away, and forgot all about the little packet. But Fanny remembered
it; in fact, she could not get it out of her head during the entire day;
and in the course of the afternoon, when she found that the Vivian girls
joined the group of the Specialities, she forced a chair between Betty
and Olive Repton, and seated herself on it, and purposely, hating
herself all the time for doing so, felt Betty's pocket. Beyond doubt
there was something hard in it. It was not a pocket-handkerchief, nor
did it feel like a pencil or a knife or anything of that sort.

"I shall know no peace," thought Fanny to herself, "until I get that
unhappy girl to tell the truth and return the packet to me. I shall be
very firm and very kind, and I will never let out a single thing about
it in the school. But the packet must be given up; and then I will
manage to convey it to Mrs. Haddo, who will keep it until dear father
returns."

But although Fan intended to act the part of the very virtuous and
proper girl, she did not like her cousins the more because of this
unpleasant incident. Fanny Crawford had a certain strength of character;
but it is sad to relate that she was somewhat overladen with
self-righteousness, and was very proud of the fact that nothing would
induce _her_ to do a dishonorable thing. She sadly lacked Mrs. Haddo's
rare and large sympathy and deep knowledge of life, and Fanny certainly
had not the slightest power of reading character.

That very evening, therefore, when the Vivian girls had gone to their
room, feeling very tired and sleepy, and by no means so unhappy as they
expected, Fanny first knocked at their door and then boldly entered.
Each girl had removed her frock and was wearing a little, rough, gray
dressing-gown, and each girl was in the act of brushing out her own very
thick hair.

"Brushing-hair time!" exclaimed Fanny in a cheerful tone. "I trust I am
not in the way."

"We were going to bed," remarked Betty.

"Oh, Betty, what a reproachful tone!" Fanny tried to carry matters off
with a light hand. "Surely I, your own cousin, am welcome? Do say I am
welcome, dear Betty! and let me bring