be Verena. I expect
Verena, for all she is so soft and fair, is a tough nut to crack; but you
can bring Briar and Patty. My father will be quite satisfied if three of
you are present. The fact is, he is awfully hurt at the thought of your
all thinking yourselves too good for us. He says that the Dales and the
Kings were always friends. My father is a dear old man, but he has his
cranks, and he has made up his mind that come you must, or he'll make
mischief. It won't be only me; it will be my father as well. He will
appear at The Dales, and if I go straight to Miss Tredgold, he will go
straight to Mr. Dale. Now, what do you think of that? I am determined to
have you for reasons of my own, and I shall poke up my father to do no
end of mischief if you don't appear. Now don't be a goose. Get up a
little dash of courage and a little dash of your old spirit and
everything will be as straight as possible."

Pauline stood quite still. Nancy danced in front of her. Nancy's face was
almost malicious in its glee. Pauline looked at it as a child will look
when despair clutches at her heart.

"I didn't know--I couldn't guess--that you were like that," she said in a
sort of whisper.

"Couldn't you, dear little duckledoms? Well, you do know it now; and you
know also how to act. Don't you see by the lines round my mouth and the
expression in my eyes that I can be hard as hard when I please? I am
going to be very hard now. My honor is involved in this. I promised that
you would be there. There are presents being bought for you. Come you
must; come you shall."

Pauline stood quite silent; then she flung her arms to her sides and
faced her tormentor.

"There was a time," she said slowly, "when I loved you, Nancy. But I
don't love you now. By-and-by, perhaps, you will be sorry that you have
lost my love, for I think--yes, I think it is the sort that doesn't come
back. I don't love you to-night because you are cruel, because you have
already got me into a scrape, and you want to push me into a yet deeper
one. I am not the sort of girl you think me. However grand and stately
and like a lady Aunt Sophia is--and compared to you and me, Nancy, she is
very stately and very grand and very noble--I would not give you up. Aunt
Sophy is a lady with a great brave heart, and her ideas are up-in-the-air
ideas, and she doesn't know anything about mean and low and vulgar
things. I'd have clung to you, Nancy, and always owned you as my friend,
even