range girl," said Cecil. "Lady Tyrrell says she cannot
draw her into any of her interests, but she will go her own way."

"Like poor Anne?"

"No, not out of mere moping and want of intellect, like Anne. But
Lady Tyrrell says she feels for her; she was brought a great deal
too forward, and was made quite mistress of the house at Rockpier,
being her father's darling and all, and now it is trying to her,
though it is quite wholesome, to be in her proper place. It is a
pity she is so bitter over it, and flies off her own way."

"That boy!" said Rosamond; "I hope she does something for his good."

"She teaches him, I believe; but there's another instance of her
strange ways. She was absolutely vexed when Lady Tyrrell took him
into the house, though he was her protege, only because it was not
done in _her_ way. It is a great trial to Camilla."

"I could fancy a reason for that," said Rosamond. "Julius does not
like the tone of the household at all." But she added hastily, "Who
could those children be? They did not look _quite_ like poor
children."

"Ah! she is always taking up with some odd person in her own away,"
said Cecil. "But here we are. Will you drive on to the hotel, or
get out here?"

When, at the end of two hours, the sisters-in-law met at the work-
room, and Rosamond had taken a survey of the row of needle-women,
coming up one by one to give their work, be paid and dismissed,
there was a look of weariness and vexation on Cecil's face. She had
found it less easy to keep order and hinder gossip, and had hardly
known how to answer when that kind lady, Mrs. Miles Charnock, had
been asked after; but she would have scorned to allow that she had
missed her assistant, and only politely asked how Rosamond had sped.

"Oh! excellently. People were so well advised as to be out, so I
paid off all my calls."

"You did not return your calls without Julius?"

"There's nothing he hates so much. I would not have dragged him
with me on any account."

"I think it is due to one's self."

"Ah! but then I don't care what is due to myself. I saw a friend of
yours, Cecil."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Duncombe," said Rosamond. "I went to Pettitt's--the little
perfumer, you know, that Julius did so much for at the fire; and
there she was, leaning on the counter, haranguing him confidentially
upon setting an example with sanatory measures."

"Sanitary," corrected Cecil; "sanitas is health, sano to cure.
People never kn