you did wrong. Do you wish to go
with Mrs. Brett? I will see you presently and speak to you."

"If you will not have me here, I will not go with Mrs. Brett. I will go
to Lady Jane; for there is one person who wants me, although you will
not believe it!"

"Then please yourself; but I grieve to tell you that after your recent
conduct I cannot receive you again at the school."

Rosamund left the room with a proud step, but there was something in her
heart which danced.

CHAPTER XI.

BOOBY-TRAPS.

Lady Jane Ashleigh was sitting at her early breakfast. She always
breakfasted alone in a beautiful little room which her late husband had
specially furnished for her. It was a room full of memories, for she had
passionately loved her husband, and had never ceased to mourn his death.
If she had been a more cheerful and less self-concentrated woman she
might long ago have won the love of her queer and erratic little
daughter. As it was, during her husband's lifetime she thought of no one
but him, and since his death her best thoughts were devoted to his
memory: to keep flowers always on his grave; to see that his portrait
was dusted day after day, and that flowers were put under it; to kneel
there and utter prayers that he and she might be reunited in a better
world, absorbed her strongest thoughts.

Of late, however, Irene's queer conduct had terrified her very much. Too
late she discovered that she had no hold over the child, and the child
was now a source of misery to her. She could not manage Irene. The
servants were afraid of her. No governess would stay long. In short, she
was drifting from bad to worse; and yet it was impossible for Lady Jane
not to love the queer, erratic little creature. Often at night, when
Irene was sound asleep, the mother would steal into the room and look at
the pretty face, quite soft then, with all the wildness gone out of it.
She used to look down at the long, curling black lashes, on the pale,
smooth, rounded cheeks, at the wealth of dark curling hair, and wonder
and wonder why the child ever and always turned from her, why she never
reposed confidence in her, why she left her to live apart. If by any
chance Lady Jane made a noise while she was in Irene's room and awakened
that small sprite, then the scene would change. Irene would spring up in
bed, dare her mother to invade her slumbers, and frighten her with
immediately vanishing into the night-air and spending the rest of her
ti