would not touch my private possessions; I
dust them and arrange them myself. I dusted my miniature only this
morning, and this white rosebud and maidenhair I placed under it. I
always put fresh flowers under my portrait; I did so to-day as usual.
No, as you say, there are no thieves at Wilton Chase. Ermie has taken
the miniature out of revenge. She knew I valued it."

"You are mistaken," said Basil, "and I think you are cruel!"

He left the room in a great rage.

CHAPTER VII.

A GOOD, BOYISH SORT OF GIRL.

The next day was Saturday. The lessons done this morning by
Ermengarde, Marjorie, and Lucy were little more than nominal. A master
came to give the little girls instruction in music at eleven o'clock,
and after their half-hour each with him, they were considered free to
spend the rest of the day as they pleased.

Rather to Basil's surprise Miss Nelson said nothing whatever to Ermie
about the loss of her miniature. The governess's face was very pale
this morning, and her eyes had red rims round them, as though she had
wept a good deal the previous night. She was particularly gentle,
however, and Basil, who alone knew her secret, could not help being
sorry for her.

He was still angry, for he thought her idea about Ermengarde both
unjust and cruel; but her softened and sad demeanor disarmed him, and
he longed beyond words to give her back the miniature.

Ermie was in excellent spirits this morning. She thought herself well
out of yesterday's scrape, and she looked forward to a long and happy
afternoon with her brothers. She was particularly bright and attentive
over her lessons, and would have altogether won Miss Nelson's
approval, had not her sad mind been occupied with other matters.

Marjorie was the first to go to her music lesson this morning. She
returned from it at half-past eleven, and then Ermengarde went to
receive Mr. Hill's instructions.

Basil was standing in the passage, sharpening a lead pencil as she
passed.

"I'll be free at twelve, Basil," she called to him. "Where shall I
find you?"

"I'll be somewhere round," he replied, in a would-be careless tone.
"Maggie, is that you? I want to speak to you."

He seemed anxious to get away from Ermengarde, and she noticed it, and
once more the cloud settled on her brow.

"Come out, Mag; I want to speak to you," said Basil. "You are free at
last, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; I'm free. What were you so chuffy to Ermie, for? You seemed
as if yo