is your own impression? Do you dislike the idea, or feel inclined towards it?”

Rhoda meditated, and her mother watched her with wistful eyes. At the first mention of the word “school” the girl had started with surprise, and her eyes had looked wide and puzzled, but now as she stood deliberating, it was not dismay, but rather pleasure and excitement, that showed in her face. The eyes gleamed complacently, the dimple dipped, the fair head tilted itself, and Rhoda said slowly—

“I think I should—like it! It would be a—change!”

Alas for Mrs Chester, and alas for every mother in that sharp moment when she realises that the nestling which she has been keeping so safe and warm is already beginning to find the nest too narrow for its ambitions, and is longing to fly away into the big, wide world! Two salt tears splashed on to the satin gown, but no one saw them, for the girl was engrossed in her own feelings, while Mr Chester was saying brightly—

“That’s my brave girl! I knew you would be no coward.”

Harold watched his sister with mingled pity and amusement.

“They’ll take it out of her! They’ll take it out of her! Poor little Ro! Won’t she hate it, and won’t it do her good!” he said to himself, shrewdly. “And, after the first, I shouldn’t wonder if she became a prime favourite!”

Rhoda seated herself on a crimson plush chair, and folded her hands on her knees, in an attitude of expectation. She was an impetuous young person, and could brook no delay when once her interest was aroused. School having been mentioned as a possibility of the future, it became imperative to settle the matter off-hand.

Which school? When? Who would take her? What would she have to buy? What were the rules? When were the holidays? How long would they be? Where would she spend them?—One question succeeded another in breathless succession, making Mr Chester smile with indulgent amusement.

“My dear child, how can I tell? So far it is only a suggestion. Nothing is settled. We have not even thought of one school before another—”

“If she goes at all, I should like her to go to Miss Moorby’s, at Bournemouth,” said Mrs Chester quickly. “She only takes ten girls, and I’m told it is just like a home—hot bottles in all the beds, and beef-tea at eleven—”

“Mother!” cried Rhoda, in a tone of deep reproach. Her eyes flashed, and she drew herself up proudly. “No, indeed! If I go at all, I will do the thing properly, and go to a real school, and not a hot-house. I don’t want their old beef-tea and bottles. I want to go to a nice, big, sporty school, where they treat you like boys, and not young ladies, and put you on your honour, and don’t bind you down by a hundred sickening little rules. I want to go to,”—she drew a long breath, and glanced at her mother, as if bracing herself to meet opposition—“to Hurst Manor! There! I’ve read about it in magazines, and Ella Mason had a cousin who had been there, and she said it was—simply mag.! She was Head Girl, and ruled the house, and came out first in the games, and she said she never had such sport in her life, and found the holidays quite fearfully flat and stale in comparison.”

“You don’t become Head Girl all at once,” interposed Harold, drily; while Mrs Chester gave another sob at the idea that home could ever be looked upon in so sad a light.

“Hurst Manor?” she repeated vaguely. “That’s a strange name. I never heard of the place before. What do you know about it that makes you want to go, darling? Are you quite sure it is nice, and what is the Head Mistress like, and how many young la— girls does she take? Not too many, I hope, for I can’t see how they can be properly looked after when there are more than twenty or thirty. I’ve heard terrible stories of delicacy for life arising from neglect. You remember poor, dear Evie Vane! Her glands swelled, and nobody noticed, and—”

“My glands never swell. They know better. Over two hundred girls, mother; but they are divided into different houses, with a staff of teachers in charge of each, so there’s no fear of being neglected; and it’s much more fun living in a crowd. I’m tired of talking to the same people over and over again, and should love a variety. Among the hundred girls, one would be sure to find one or two whom one could really like.”

Harold laughed again, a sleepy laugh, which brought a flash into his sister’s eyes. That was the worst of Harold; he was so superior! He never argued, nor contradicted, but he had a way of smiling to himself, of throwing back his head and half shutting his eyes, which made Rhoda feel as if throwing cushions at him would be the only adequate relief to her feelings. She glared at him for a moment, and then turned her back on him in a marked manner and addressed herself to her father.

“You will write to Miss Bruce at once, won’t you, father, and arrange for me to go at the beginning of the term?”

“I will write for particulars, or, better still, your mother and I will go down to see the place for ourselves. I should like you to go to the school you fancy, if it can be arranged, and I suppose this is as good as any.”

“Better!” Rhoda declared rapturously, “a thousand times better! Ella Mason said so; and she knows, because her cousin’s sisters have all been at different schools—one at Cheltenham, one at Saint Andrew’s, one at Wycombe, and she declares that Hurst beats them all. It must be so, since it has adopted all the good ideas and abandoned the bad.” She went on with a rambling statement which seemed to imply that Miss Bruce had been in turn sole proprietor of each of these well-known schools before abandoning them in favour of her new establishment; that Hurst Manor buildings had been recently erected, at vast expense, to provide every possible convenience for the pupils, and at the same time was a nobleman’s seat of venerable interest; that sports and games formed the chief interest of the pupils, lessons being relegated to an appropriate secondary position; while, astonishing to relate, the honours in all University examinations fell to “Hurst girls,” and every woman who had made a name for herself had graduated from its ranks! She detailed these interesting items of information with sublime assurance; and, when Harold mildly pointed out inconsistencies, retorted scornfully that she supposed she might be allowed to know, since Ella’s cousin had said so, and she had been there, and seen for herself! Mrs Chester supported her by murmurs of assent, and little warning frowns to her son, which in dumb language signified that he was to be a good boy, and not aggravate his sister; and Mr Chester put his arm round her waist, and looked down at her, half smiling, half pitiful. The pitiful expression grew, and became so marked that the girl gazed at him in surprise. Why did he look so sorry? Was he already feeling the blank which her absence would leave? Did he fear that she would be home-sick, and regret her hasty decision? She stared into his face with her bright blue eyes, and her father gazed back, noting the firm chin, the arched brows, the characteristic tilt of the head. This overweening confidence of youth—he was asking himself earnestly—was it altogether a misfortune, or but raw material out of which great things were to be made in the future? Was it not better to go forth to meet life’s battle with a light heart and fearless tread than trembling and full of doubt? Surely it was better, and yet his heart was sore for the girl, as the heart of a leader must be sore when he sends his soldiers to the front, knowing that no victory is won without a cost, no fight without a scar. Something very like a tear glittered in the father’s eye, and at the sight Rhoda’s face softened into a charming tenderness. She snuggled her head into his neck, and rubbed her soft cheeks against his, murmuring absurd little sentences of endearment, as to a child of two years old.