another half year, you know, because of the exam, but I failed again in that hateful arithmetic: I’m a perfect dunce over figures, father; I hope you don’t mind. I can sing very well; my voice was better than any of the other girls, and that will give you more pleasure than if I could do all the sums in the world. They tried to teach me algebra, too. Such a joke; I once got an equation right. The teacher nearly had a fit. It was the most awful fluke.”

“I don’t seem to care much about your arithmetical prowess,” father said, smiling. “I shall not ask you to help me with my accounts, but it will be a pleasure to hear you sing, especially if you will indulge me with a ballad now and then which I can really enjoy. You are older than I thought; but keep as young as you can, child. I don’t want to lose my little playfellow yet awhile. I’ve missed her very badly these last years.”

I liked to hear that. It was sad for him, of course, but I simply love people to love me and feel bad when I’m gone. I was far and away the most popular girl at school, but it wasn’t all chance as they seemed to think. I’m sure I worked hard enough for the position. If a girl didn’t like me I was so fearfully nice to her that she was simply forced to come round. I said something like that to Lorna once, and she was quite shocked, and called it self-seeking and greed for admiration, and all sorts of horrid names. I don’t see it at all; I call it a most amiable weakness. It makes you pleasant and kind even if you feel horrid, and that must be nice. I felt all bubbling over with good resolutions when father said that, and begged him to let me be not only his playmate but his helper also, and to tell me at once what I could do.

He smiled again in that sad sort of way grown-up people have, which seems to say that they know such a lot more than you, and are sorry for your ignorance.

“Nothing definite, darling,” he said; “an infinite variety of things indefinite! Love me, and remember me sometimes among the new distractions—that’s about the best you can do;” and I laughed, and pinched him again.

“You silly old dear! As if I could ever forget!” and just at that moment we drove up to the porch.

If it had been another girl’s mother, she would have been waiting at the door to receive me. I’ve been home with friends, so I know; but my mother is different. I don’t think I should like it if she did come! It doesn’t fit into my idea of her, some way. Mother is like a queen—everyone waits upon her, and goes up to 

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