sin, Mr.
Cardew?"

"And are the girls coming to the school?" asked Aneta.

"I have seen Mr. Cardew," said Mrs. Ward. "He is a very charming man.
He will decide whether he will send his daughters here or not during
the course of to-day."

"But," said Lady Lysle, "didn't you urge him?"

"No, dear friend; I never urge any one to put a girl in my care. I
should feel myself very wrong in doing so. If Mr. Cardew thinks well
of what he has seen here he may send his daughters to me, but I
certainly did nothing to urge him."

"Oh dear!" said Aneta, "I should so like them to come. You can't
think, Mrs. Ward, what nice people the Cardews are; and the
girls--they do want school-life. Don't they, auntie darling?"

"Such a school as this would do them a world of good," said Lady
Lysle.

"Well, I really hope they will come," said Mrs. Ward; "but I quite
understand their father's objections. They are evidently very precious
treasures, and he has the sort of objection which exists in the minds
of many country gentlemen to sending his girls to school."

"Ah," said Aneta, "but there are schools and schools!"

"The girls will be exceedingly rich," said Lady Lysle. "Their mother
was a Meredith and belonged to an old county family. She inherits vast
wealth _and_ the old family place. Their father is what may be termed
a merchant-prince. By-and-by all the money of the parents will go to
these girls. They are very nice children, but know nothing whatever of
the world. It seems to me a cruel thing that they should be brought up
with no knowledge of the great world where they must eventually
live."

"I hope they will come here," said Mrs. Ward. "Great wealth means
great responsibility. They can make magnificent use of their money. I
should be interested to have them."

"I know you would, my dear friend," said Lady Lysle, "and they are
really quite sweet girls. Now, come, Aneta; we must not keep Mrs. Ward
any longer."

When her visitors had left her Mrs. Ward still remained in the
pleasant drawing-room. She sank into a low chair, folded her hands in
her lap, and remained very still. Although she was only thirty-five
years of age, she had been a widow for over ten years. She had married
when quite a young girl, and had lost her husband and child before she
was five-and-twenty. It was in her generous and noble nature to love
most passionately and all too well. For a time after her terrible
trouble she scarcely know how to bear her