out gaily with Cicely into the garden. They were
seated comfortably in a little arbor, when Isabel's voice was heard
calling them. She was hot and panting. She had come up to tell them of
the proposed arrangements for the afternoon, and to beg of them both
to come immediately to the rectory.

"How more than delightful!" said Merry.--"Cicely, you stay still, for
you're a little tired. I'll run up to the house at once and ask father
and mother if we may go."

"Yes, please do," said Isabel; "and I'll rest here for a little, for
really the walk up to your house is somewhat fatiguing." She mopped
her hot forehead as she spoke. "You might as well come back with me,
both of you girls," she added. But she only spoke to Cicely, for Merry
had already vanished.

"Father! mother!" said the young girl, bursting abruptly into their
presence. "Belle Tristram has just come up to ask us to spend the
afternoon at the rectory. Tea in the hay-field, and all kinds of fun!
May we go?"

"Of course you may, dears," said Mrs. Cardew at once. "We intended
motoring, but we can do that another day."

Mr. Cardew looked dubious for a moment. Then he said, "All right, only
you must not be out too late. I'll send the pony-trap down to the
rectory for you at half-past eight o'clock."

"Oh, but, father," said Merry, "we can walk home."

"No dear; I will send the little carriage. Now, go and enjoy yourself,
my child."

He looked at her with great affection, and she felt herself reddening.
Had she hurt that most dear father after all? Oh! no school that ever
existed was worth that.

CHAPTER VII.

DISCONTENT.

On that special afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Cardew happened to be alone.
The girls had gone down to the rectory. This was not Mrs. Cardew's At
Home day, and she therefore did not expect any visitors. She was a
little tired after her long drive to Warwick, and was glad when her
husband suggested that they should go out and have tea all alone
together under one of the wide-spreading elm-trees.

Mrs. Cardew said to herself that this was almost like the old, old
times of very long ago. She and her husband had enjoyed an almost
ideal married life. They had never quarreled; they had never even had
a small disagreement. They were blessed abundantly with this world's
good things, for when Sylvia Meredith of Meredith Manor had accepted
the hand of Cyril Cardew she had also given her heart to him.

He and she were one in all particulars. T