“Poor, dear, unhappy child!” Violet said, tears trembling in her beautiful eyes; “I know you cannot be other than miserable while indulging in such wrong feelings.  If I have ill-treated you in any way I have not been conscious of it, and am truly sorry, for it is my strong desire to be all that I should to my husband’s dear children.  Come into my dressing-room and let us have a little talk together about these matters.”

She drew Lulu into the room as she spoke, and made her sit down on a sofa by her side.

“No, Mamma Vi, you have never ill-treated me,” answered Lulu, her sense of justice asserting itself; “but I think Grandpa Dinsmore has, and so I’d rather go away from him.”

“I am sorry you feel so little gratitude to one who has done so much for you, Lulu,” Violet said, not unkindly.  “Surely you cannot deny that it has been a very great kindness in him to take you into his own family—­giving you the best of homes—­and instruct you himself, for no reward but the pleasure of doing you good and seeing your improvement:  that, too, in spite of having to bear with much ill-behavior from you.”

Lulu tried hard to think herself unjustly accused, but in her heart knew very well that every word of Violet’s reproof was richly deserved.  She made no reply, but hung her head, while a vivid blush suffused her cheeks.

Silence in the room for several minutes; then Lulu said, “I think my bedtime has come, Mamma Vi; may I go now?”

“Yes; good-night,” said Violet, bending down to give her a kiss.

Lulu returned both the kiss and the good-night, then rose to leave the room.

“Stay a moment, dear,” Violet said in her gentlest, sweetest tone; “I am writing to your father:  what shall I say about you?”

“Anything you please,” Lulu answered coldly, and walked away with head erect, cheeks aflame, and eyes flashing.

“If she wants to tell tales on me, she may.  I shan’t try to stop her,” she muttered to herself as she went into her own room and closed the door; then sending a glance around upon all the luxury and beauty of the apartment, the thought flashed painfully on her that these things, so delightful to her, would have to be exchanged for others far inferior and less enjoyable; for, of course, no boarding-school room would be furnished at anything like the expense that had been lavished upon this and others in this fine old mansion, so long owned and at times occupied by the possessors of vast wealth joined to refined and cultivated taste.

During the last fortnight, enforced confinement there had sometimes made the room seem like a prison; but now her heart swelled at the thought of leaving it, perhaps never to return, for certainly, unless she became submissive and obedient, she would be kept at the academy at least until the family were ready to leave for Ion.

Then it occurred to her that there were advantages, companionships, luxuries, to be given up, the resigning of which would be still harder.  Now that she was to leave them, she found she had grown fond of both her young stepmother and the baby sister of whom she had once been so jealous; and that she loved Grandma Elsie also, Aunt Elsie too; and indeed, that almost every one in the family connection had proved agreeable in such intercourse as she had held with them.