d the banging about of furniture, and the room door was
opened, and the girl whom Rosamund had seen swinging at the other end of
the sunlit lawn appeared on the scene. She was one of the most beautiful
girls Rosamund, who thought herself very good-looking, had ever beheld
in her life, but her eyes were wild and almost unsteady. Her laugh was
harsh and her voice unpleasant.

"Irene," said Lady Jane, turning pale, "what is the matter with you?
Won't you behave?"

The girl gave a laugh, flung herself into a chair, then drew herself a
little closer, and stared full at Rosamund.

"Never mind mother," she said. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rosamund Cunliffe," was Rosamund's reply.

She spoke steadily. There was a certain calm about her voice which
seemed to exercise a beneficent influence over the queer girl.

"And my name is Irene Ashleigh. Won't you come out, and I'll swing you?
You'd like to have a good swing this hot day, wouldn't you?"

"If you will promise, Irene, to be very careful," began Lady Jane; but
Irene's only reply to this was to jump up as suddenly as she had seated
herself, take Rosamund's hand, and pull her through the open French
window.

"Never mind mother," she said again. "She is nothing but an old croak.
There's a bit of spirit about you. Oh! they all tell stories about me;
but I'm not half bad, only I think I'm a changeling. Did you ever think
you were a changeling?"

"Of course not. I don't know what you mean."

"I'll explain to you. I quite like your look. May I put my arm round
your waist?"

"If it pleases you," said Rosamund.

"How stiffly you speak! But I like you all the same. You are what might
be called a good old sort, and there's nothing prim about you. Do you
know why I came into the room just now?"

"I'm sure I cannot tell."

"Well, I'll let you know. I was listening at one of the windows, and I
heard you tell mother--dear old puritanical mother--that you had crept
away without leave from the learned professor, and had got into
difficulties. Oh, didn't I just love you for it! There's a Miss Frost
here who tries to teach me; but, bless you! she can't knock much
learning into me. She is as terrified of me as she can be, is old
Frosty. She and I had a squabble in the passage; she said I was not to
come in because I had my red dress on. You know, it's only a year since
father died, and mother is in deep mourning still; but I will wear
red--it is my sort of mourning. I suppose w