ters are to speak to me, and I am only to walk in the
north walk."

"Is this the north walk?" asked Nancy, with a merry twinkle in her black
eyes.

"Of course it isn't. She may say what she likes, but I'm not going to
obey her. But the others won't speak to me. I can't make them. And I am
to take my meals by myself in the schoolroom, and I am to go to bed at
seven o'clock."

Pauline told her sad narrative in a most lugubrious manner, and she felt
almost offended at the conclusion when Nancy burst into a roar of
laughter.

"It's very unkind of you to laugh when I'm so unhappy," said Pauline.

"My dear, how can I help it? It is so ridiculous to treat a girl who is
practically almost grown up in such a baby fashion. Then I'd like to know
what authority she has over you."

"That's the worst of it, Nancy. Father has given her authority, and she
has it in writing. She's awfully clever, and she came round poor father,
and he had to do what she wanted because he couldn't help himself."

"Jolly mean, I call it," said Nancy. "My dear, you are pretty mad, I
suppose."

"Wouldn't you be if your father treated you like that?"

"My old dad! He knows better. I've had my swing since I was younger than
you, Paulie. Of course, at school I had to obey just a little. I wasn't
allowed to break all the rules, but I did smuggle in a good many
relaxations. The thing is, you can do what you like at school if only you
are not found out. Well, I was too clever to be found out. And now I am
grown up, eighteen last birthday, and I have taken a fancy to cling to my
old friends, even if they have a snobby, ridiculous old aunt to be rude
to me. My dear, what nonsense she did write!--all about your being of
such a good family, and that I wasn't in your station. I shall keep that
letter. I wouldn't lose it for twenty shillings. What have you to boast
of after all is said and done? A tumble-down house; horrid, shabby,
old-fashioned, old-maidy clothes; and never a decent meal to be had."

"But it isn't like that now," said Pauline, finding herself getting very
red and angry.

"Well, so much the better for you. And did I make the little mousy-pousy
angry? I won't, then, any more, for Nancy loves little mousy-pousy, and
would like to do what she could for her. You love me back, don't you,
mousy?"

"Yes, Nancy, I do love you, and I think it's a horrid shame that we're
not allowed to be with you. But, all the same, I'd rather you didn't call
me