"Yes," said Lucy.

"Please introduce him to me."

Lucy longed to say, "It will tire him; I can't do it." She longed to
give any sort of excuse, but none would come to her lips. She was forced
to take Rosamund up to Mr. Merriman.

"This is Rosamund Cunliffe," she said, "and she wants to know you,
father."

"I am very much pleased to see you, Miss Cunliffe," said Mr. Merriman;
and then Rosamund stood in the doorway and talked.

Lucy went back and tried to dance with another girl, and the dance music
still went on. But she could not help straining her ears and trying to
catch the subject of Rosamund's conversation. Why, she was absolutely
laughing, and the Professor, who was generally so grave and quiet, was
laughing also. What did it all mean?

"Father, aren't you tired?--Miss Cunliffe, you are tiring father," said
Lucy at last, running up to the door and trying to speak calmly.

"No, my dear," said her father. "On the contrary, I am intensely
interested.--You must tell me that story again, Miss Cunliffe. Would you
like to come and see my library?"

The two went off together, and Lucy felt almost as though she must burst
into tears. Phyllis's eyes again met her face, and she had to restrain
her feelings. The "I told you so" look was too maddening almost for
endurance.

Rosamund's love of power showed itself further in the arrangement of her
bedroom. She took down the dividing curtain between herself and Jane
Denton without asking any one's permission; and she slept in the bed
intended for Jane, and rearranged the drawers, putting them into another
part of the room; and complained about the wardrobe, saying that she
would like it put opposite the door instead of in its present position.
And whatever she wished was immediately done, and whatever she said was
said so politely that no one took offense. And Lucy had to confess to
herself that Phyllis was right, and that Rosamund would be a power--the
leading power--in the school.

Early the next day the two teachers arrived. Mademoiselle Omont was very
French in appearance, very dark, with sparkling black eyes and neatly
arranged soft dark hair. She had a truly Parisian accent, and a pretty,
graceful way about her. Miss Archer was a stolid-looking woman of about
five-and-thirty years of age. She had a long talk, on her arrival, with
Mrs. Merriman, and then she went to her room and stayed there for some
little time, so that it was not until tea-time that the girls