I am, Rosamund. I am always that. But where is my little
Agnes? I want her to have some of these ripe plums. She is so fond of
plums."

"Well, she oughtn't to have any more, for she ate too many yesterday,
and Miss Frost says they don't agree with her."

"As if Frosty knew anything about the matter! I am the person who is
going to take care of Agnes in the future. I have settled all that with
myself. As to mother, she will do as I wish. I am going to adopt Agnes;
I call her my adopted child."

"But that is rather ridiculous, isn't it, Irene, seeing that you are
almost the same age?"

"There are two years between us; but then, Agnes is so very small, so
_petite_ in every way, and so--so sweet and so defenseless."

"I always thought you did not care for defenseless people, nor for weak
people, nor timid people."

"Oh, I like her sort. You see, she believed in me from the first."

"I hope she always will," said Rosamund.

"Well, where is she now?"

"She has gone to talk to her sister. You cannot expect her to give up
all her time to you."

"But indeed that is just what I do. What can she have in common with
that tiresome, frowzy old Frosty?"

"Only she happens to be her sister, and that tiresome, frowzy old
Frosty, as you call her, has looked after her since she was a little
child, when her mother died."

"Oh, yes, I've heard all that story. I suppose it's very noble; but, all
the same, little Agnes is fonder of me."

"You have no right to steal her heart from Miss Frost."

"Rosamund, I don't know what to make of you. You always have a great
influence over me; but what is the matter now? Do you want to take Agnes
away from me? If you wish to, you may; but I shall follow, for I don't
intend to give her up, and nobody living will make me. I am sure you can
do what you like with that detestable Hugh, and Frosty can go for her
holidays. It would be a very good idea. Agnes and I would be quite happy
at The Follies, with dear mother, of course, to take care of us."

Just at that moment there came a whoop and a spring, and Hughie, his red
face redder than ever, his freckles more marked, his carroty hair
sticking up all over his head, and his light-blue eyes wearing a most
mischievous expression, entered the little arbor and sat down at one
side of Irene.

"I say," he remarked, "I want to ask you a direct question."

"What is that?" she said, moving slightly away from him.

He edged a little nearer.

"Is