Lady Kathleen Peterham had not much difficulty in inducing Bridget to return with her to Eastcliff. The young girl was in a state of intense nervous excitement. She was making up her mind to face disgrace. All through the triumph and supposed pleasure of the Fancy Fair she kept seeing the indignant face of Mrs. Freeman when she heard of the wicked trick which she and Janet had played upon her. She saw her Aunt Kathleen with her shocked, incredulous, unbelieving expression; and last, but not least, she saw her gray-headed old father when the news reached him that the last of the O'Haras—the very last of all the race—had stooped to dishonor.

These thoughts took away Biddy's enjoyment. She became so wretched at last that she almost wished for the crucial hour to be over.

Janet came up to her as the last of the guests were departing.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I have not time to explain matters now, but you have nothing whatever to fear. Leave things in my hands, and don't be nervous, for I assure you everything will be as right as possible."

Bridget had no time to ask Janet to explain her strange words, for the next moment she had turned away to say something with eagerness to Lady Kathleen.

Lady Kathleen nodded, and looked intensely wise and affectionate.

An hour later Bridget found herself driving away from Mulberry Court, her last frantic endeavors to see Mrs. Freeman by herself having proved utterly fruitless.

"I can't make out what's the matter with you, Biddy!" said her aunt. "Why are you flushing one moment and growing pale the next? I hope to goodness you haven't caught anything. You look quite feverish."

"Oh, I'm all right, Aunt Kathie!" said Bridget. "Please don't worry about my looks; they don't signify in the least."

"Your looks don't signify, Bridget? That's a strange thing to say to me, who was born a Desborough. You are a Desborough yourself, Bridget, on your poor mother's side, and have we not been celebrated for our beauty through a long line of distinguished ancestors? Never let me hear that kind of nonsense fall again from your lips, Biddy. Heaven-born beauty is a gift which ought not to be lightly regarded."

"I have a headache, then," said Bridget. "I suppose I needn't talk if I don't want to?"

"Of course you needn't, pet; and when we go back to the hotel you shall go straight to bed. Oh, how pleased your father will be when we get back to the Castle!"

In reply to this speech Bridget burst into a sudden flood of tears.

"I can't bear it!" she sobbed. "Oh, Aunt Kathie, I have been so naughty! I wanted to see Mrs. Freeman to tell her everything; but she had just had some bad news, and no one would let me go near her. Oh, I am so miserable! I do hate school most dreadfully. Aunt Kathie, you wouldn't love me if you knew what a bad girl I have been."

"Now, my pet, that is nonsense. I'd just love you through everything. I suppose you have got into a little school scrape? Bless you, Biddy, all the girls do that. Now dry your eyes, and let us think no more about trifles of that sort. Here we are at the hotel, and your holidays have begun. I promise you, you'll never have gayer ones. I have a nice little surprise in store for you, but you are not going to get it out of me to-night."

Bridget did not betray any inordinate curiosity with regard to her aunt's surprise. She cheered up a little, and after a slight supper retired to bed.

In the meantime, Janet May was in her own room at the Court, busily concluding her packing.

The girl who shared her room with her had left that evening. Janet, therefore, had the apartment to herself.

Two letters had come by that evening's post; one which brought to her at least some days of respite, for she was now quite sure that nothing further would be done with regard to Miss Dent's discovery for a week or ten days. It was even possible that the thing might remain in abeyance until the school reassembled.

In any case Janet had now time to breathe.

Two letters had, however, come by the post, and while one gave her relief, the other added to her perplexities.

The other letter was from her sister Sophy.

Dear Janet [this sister had written] I am waiting anxiously for the moment when the post will bring me your letter with a couple of pounds in it. I simply cannot do without it, as Miss Simpkins has turned me out of doors. I am writing from a little stationer's shop quite close, and I have bribed Annie, the housemaid, to bring me your letter the instant it comes. I have exactly one shilling in my pocket, so you may suppose that I am brought to a low ebb. Miss Simpkins is the very crossest old cat that ever breathed, and I could not help giving her cheek this morning, so she turned me out, and refused to pay me my week's salary. It isn't worth fighting with her, and, of course, I am willing to admit that there were faults on both sides. The stationer's wife will give me a bed to-night, but what am I to do afterward? Of course, the money will come from you, you dear, and then I shall immediately start for Margate, and look for you to meet me there. Mrs. Dove, the stationer's wife, knows of a nice little room, which we could share together, for ten shillings a week—that is dirt cheap, as you must know. The address is Mrs. Dove's, 9 Water Street, South Parade. It's a top room—I suppose that means an attic; but, never mind; as Mrs. Dove says, "the higher up you are, the better the air."

Your devoted sister,
Sophy.

P. S.—Oh, you cruel, cruel Janet! You heartless monster! The post has come and your letter, and no inclosure. Mrs. Dove will let me sleep here to-night—she is a kind soul; but, remember, I have only got one shilling in the world, and I vow I will never ask Aunt Jane to help me.

Very early the next morning Janet rose, and going downstairs met one of the servants in the hall.

"I'm going to walk to Eastcliff," she said. "I have got all my boxes packed and directed. They are to be sent by the carrier to-day to the railway station, where they are to be left for me until I send further orders. They will be put into the booking office of course."

"Very well, miss," said the servant, "but you'll want some breakfast of course."

"No, no, I am in a great hurry; I can't possibly wait."

"Have you seen Miss Delicia, Miss May?"

"It's all right," repeated Janet, not heeding this remark. She walked through the hall as she spoke, opened the door herself, and let herself out.

She was neatly dressed in pale gray alpaca; her little sailor hat, with a plain band of white ribbon round it, looked neat and girlish; she carried a thin dust cloak on her arm.

No one could look nicer or sweeter than Janet. She had a sort of good heroine air about her, and this fact struck Lady Kathleen Peterham most forcibly when about eight o'clock that morning the young lady was admitted into her bedroom.

Lady Kathleen was not an early riser.

She was, indeed, sound asleep when her maid brought her a little note on a silver salver. The note contained a few piteous lines from Janet.

I am in great trouble and perplexity [she wrote]; will you see me for one minute?

"The little dear, of course I'll see her," said Lady Kathleen. She had herself arrayed in a rose-colored silk dressing gown, and was sitting up in the shaded light when Janet tripped into the room.

"Oh, how kind of you to let me come," said the girl.

"My love," said Lady Kathleen, "I was expecting you between ten and eleven. I have not broken the news of our charming arrangement yet to Biddy; I know well how delighted she'll be when I do tell her. Why have you come so early, little Mayflower, and what is all this trouble about? You look very nice, my love, notwithstanding your perplexities."

"I am very anxious," said Janet; and then she proceeded to tell a long and pathetic story about Sophy; Sophy was so pretty, but also so willful; she was older than Janet, but she also leaned upon her. She had just been turned out of her situation owing to the cruelty of her employer, and—and—of course Janet could not go to Ireland and leave her dear older sister in such a plight; she had saved a few shillings, and she was going to take the very next train to Bristol to see her.

The words that Janet hoped Lady Kathleen would utter fell at once from the good lady's lips. "My darling," she said, "you and this naughty, pretty little sister of yours shall both come to Castle Mahun. My brother-in-law, dear fellow, will give you the best of Irish welcomes; of course he will, you sweet little brave soul; why it's a heroine you are, and no mistake."

Janet replied in a very humble and pretty manner to these gratifying words of praise, and soon a plan which she had already sketched out in her own mind was proposed to her by Lady Kathleen.

"You and your sister can cross over from Bristol to Cork," she said. "From there it is only a short distance to Castle Mahun. Biddy and I will start for home to-day, and we'll expect you in a day or two after. Oh, my dear, you want a little money; I know you're poor, darling, and I am rich, so where are the odds? It's no worry to me, but a pleasure to help you. Give me your address in Bristol, and I'll send you a postal order before Biddy and I leave Eastcliff to-day."

Janet's eyes fell, and her heart sank a trifle.

It would have been so much nicer to have got the money now; she did not want to spend Biddy's two pounds if she could help it. Her intention, indeed, had been to get a postal order to send off to Pat Donovan before she left Eastcliff, but Lady Kathleen, who had risen to all Janet's other suggestions, failed her in this.

There was no help for it, therefore, she must spend part of the two pounds in taking her railway ticket to Bristol, and could only trust that Biddy would never hear of the non-reception of her gift.

Janet bade Lady Kathleen an affectionate good-by and tripped off on her errand of sisterly mercy.

She sent a telegram to Sophy, and found her standing on the platform at Bristol waiting to receive her.

Sophy was smaller than Janet, a plump, softly rounded little person, with wide-open eyes of heavenly blue, rosebud lips, and masses of shining golden hair. At the first glance people as a rule fell in love with Sophy; how long they continued in this state of devotion was quite another matter, but the impression she made with those large-eyed innocent glances was always favorable, and served her in good stead as she fought her way through the world.

She was not nearly as clever as Janet, but that very fact added to her charms, for she had a way of confiding her troubles, of looking pathetic and asking such touchingly simple questions with regard to her future that, unless the person she addressed was very suspicious indeed, the little good-humored pretty creature was taken at once to the heart of her sympathizer.

"Oh, here you are, Janey," she exclaimed, rushing up to her sister now and clasping a plump little hand affectionately through her arm.

She was really fond of Janet, and Janet really cared for her, but as the two were perfectly open with each other it was unnecessary in Janet's opinion to waste time in sentiment.

"Yes, I have come," she said, "and very troublesome it is to me to have to come. Why couldn't you keep your situation, Sophy?"

"Oh, my darling," exclaimed Sophy, "if you had been me! you don't know—you can't possibly know what Miss Simpkins is like. She is full of the most awful fads, and she fusses so about the cats. There were four cats when I first went to her, and now there are six, all Persians, and every one of them affected with the most terrible bronchitis. They have to be doctored and medicined and their hair combed out, and watched like any number of babies. I do think, Janey, I really do think that I might have a higher vocation in life than looking after Persian cats."

"That's stuff," said Janet. "Don't you prefer looking after Persian cats to living with Aunt Jane?"

"I am not quite sure, Janet."

"But I am!" said Janet, favoring her sister with a quick, angry glance. "I wouldn't eat the bread of dependence for anybody; but now let's come back to Mrs. Dove's and have a talk."

"Is there any money, Janey?" whispered Sophy, in an appealing tone. "I told you that I had only a shilling, and it is absolutely true. I ought to pay something for my bed, and she gave me some tea and a nice new laid egg, lightly boiled, for breakfast. If I pay her the whole shilling it will be cheap; very cheap, for what she has done for me. I do trust and hope you have brought a little money with you, Janet!"

"I have brought a little. It was very hardly come by, I can tell you, and will have to go a tremendous long way. I may get into an awful scrape about that money, and I really don't see why I should run such risks for your sake."

"O Janey, Janey, and you know I'd do anything in the world for you."

Sophy's lovely eyes slowly filled with tears. Janet gave her a quick half-contemptuous, half-affectionate glance.

"There," she said, "you needn't fret; I daresay everything will be all right, and I have something very jolly to tell you in a minute or two. Only let us get to your lodgings first, for we can't talk comfortably in this noisy street."

The girls presently reached the poky little house where Sophy had spent her night. They went up at once to a tiny room with a sloping roof, and there Janet proceeded to administer a very sound lecture to her sister.

"I have something unpleasant to talk about before I say anything nice," she began. "You must first hear me out, whether you like it or not, for if you cry until your eyes are sunk into your head it won't make the least bit of difference to me. Speak I will, for it is for your good and mine."

No one could cry more copiously than Sophy on occasions, but she also had a certain power of self-control. If her tears could effect no object there was not the least use in her spoiling her pretty eyes, so she sat very still now on the edge of the small hard bed, and gazed at Janet, who sat opposite to her on a cane-bottomed chair.

"The first thing to be done is this," said Janet; "I must see Miss Simpkins, and ask her if she will take you back after the holidays are over."

"I won't go!" said Sophy, clenching her fist.

"That is nonsense, Sophy; you will either have to go to Miss Simpkins or to Aunt Jane. Aunt Jane will half starve you, and give you no money at all; Miss Simpkins will feed you well—I know she does that, or you'd be sure to tell me the contrary—then Miss Simpkins gives you fifteen pounds a year. That being the case, there is no choice at all between the two posts. Miss Simpkins's, notwithstanding the Persian cats, is much the best place for you to live at."

"Oh, you don't know," said Sophy; "it's the most horrid life. Besides, she wouldn't have me again; I know she wouldn't. We were both frightfully impertinent to each other. We were like two cats ourselves. Miss Simpkins was the old tabby, and I was the angry, snarling kitten. I have claws, you know, Janet, although I do look so velvety."

"I know perfectly well that you have claws, my dear, but you must keep them sheathed. As to going back to Miss Simpkins, I shall see her myself, and I am sure I can manage that part. You have got to come with me there after we have finished our present conversation, and you have got to beg her pardon in the most humble and proper fashion."

"I really don't know how I am to do it, Janey."

"But I do, love; you must just lean on me, and do exactly what I advise; it won't be for the first time."

"I know that," said poor Sophy, "and you are three years younger than me, and all. I didn't think you'd be such an awful tyrant; it seems rather hard to bear from one's younger sister."

"But I am older in mind, darling."

"Yes, yes, and much cleverer; but after all a worm will turn. Suppose I refuse to go back to Miss Simpkins?"

"Then, my love, I will try and screw together sufficient money to send you back third class to Aunt Jane's."

"Oh, I can't; I won't do that; it would be too horrible!"

"Listen to me, Sophy. I always said I would help you. You are very pretty, but you are not clever. You have not been educated up to the required standard; you have no chance whatever of getting a situation as governess. In these days it is the most difficult thing in the world for lady-girls who are not educated, and have not got special talents, to find anything at all to do. You are in great luck in getting this situation as companion, and I am absolutely determined that you shall not lose it. In two years' time I shall have left school. My object then is to get a good situation as English and musical teacher in one of the high schools. When I have got such a post, I may want you to live with me, Sophy, as housekeeper; there is no saying. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, shouldn't I! What larks we'd have."

"Yes, we'd have a jolly time together; but there's not the least use in thinking about it if you don't do what I tell you now. Put your hat on straight, Sophy, and don't let your hair look quite so wild and fluffy, and we will go across to Miss Simpkins's without delay. I have a very jolly plan to propose to you after you have made your peace with the old lady and the Persian cats, but not even a hint with regard to it shall drop from my lips until you have been a good girl."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear," said Sophy, "I don't know how I am ever to face the old tabby cat again."

"That's a very improper way to speak of your employer, and I'm not going to laugh. Come; are you ready?"

"I wish you weren't such a Solon, Janet."

"It is well I have got some brains; I don't know where you and I would be if I hadn't. Now, come along."

"But I am not to go back and live with her to-day?"

"No, no, I'll manage that; you shall have your bit of fun first, poor Sophy. Now come at once, we have not a moment of time to lose."

Sophy straightened her hat very unwillingly, brushed back her disordered locks with considerable rebellion in each movement, but finally followed Janet down into the street and across the narrow road into the fashionable locality where Miss Simpkins and the Persian cats resided.

Miss Simpkins lived in a small house, which was kept scrupulously clean and bright. There were flower boxes in all the windows, and the shining brass knocker and handles of the door reflected the faces of the two girls like mirrors.

A neat but severe-looking servant answered Janet's rather determined ring. She scowled at Sophy, but replied civilly to Janet's inquiry if Miss Simpkins was at home.

"Yes, miss," she replied; "my missus is in her morning room, very particularly occupied."

"I should like to see her for a few minutes," said Janet.

"I am afraid, miss, that if you have come on behalf of that young lady, the late companion, that you may spare yourself the trouble, for the missus won't have nothing to say to her nor her belongings."

"I have come on that business," said Janet. "I am much shocked at what has occurred, and have come to offer apologies. My sister, Miss May, has behaved with great indiscretion."

Poor Sophy gasped.

Janet did not pay the smallest heed to Sophy's indignant expression. Her smooth young face looked full of shocked virtue. It impressed the servant, who nodded back a sympathetic reply, and telling the girls to wait a minute, walked sedately across the hall and into the morning room.

She returned in a few moments with the information that Miss Simpkins would see the younger of the young ladies.

"I can put you, Miss May," she said, turning to Sophy, "into the hall room while the other young lady talks to my missus."

"Yes, Sophy, go there and wait," said Janet; and Sophy went.

Janet tripped lightly across the tiled hall.

The servant opened the door of the morning room and then turned to inquire the young lady's name.

"Miss Janet May," was the response.

"Miss Janet May!" shouted the servant, and Janet found the door closed behind her.

A severe looking woman, primly dressed, was seated by a round mahogany table. In the center of the table sat a snow-white and very beautiful Persian cat; a dark tabby of the same species was lapping a saucer of milk also on the table; some Persian kittens gamboled about the room. Miss Simpkins was bending over the tabby. She raised her eyes now and murmured, half to herself, half to Janet, "She has taken exactly a tenth of a pint of milk! That is a great improvement on yesterday."

"I am sure of it," said Janet, entering into the spirit of the thing without a moment's delay; "and what an exquisite cat! and oh! what a beauty that white one is! I do admire Persian cats!"

"Do you, my dear?" said the old lady. "This cat—Cherry Ripe I call her—has won several prizes at the Crystal Palace. This tabby—his name is Pompey—will also, I expect, be a prize-winner. These two kittens that you see on the floor, Marcus Aurelius and Mark Antony, have been sent to me direct from Persia. They are most valuable animals. The Persian cat is a curious and remarkable creature. Don't you think so? so sadly delicate! so fragilely beautiful! so sensitive and refined in every movement! Breed is shown in each of its actions. These cats are lovely—almost too lovely—and yet, my dear, whatever care you take of them, they all suffer more or less from bronchitis! they all swallow their long hairs when they wash themselves! and they all die young. Beautiful darlings! it is too touching to think of your inevitable fate!"

Miss Simpkins, as she spoke, stroked the snow-white Persian with her long, slender fingers.

Janet murmured some words of rapture, and the old lady asked her to seat herself.

The subject of Sophy was introduced in a few moments, and here Janet showed that talent for diplomacy which always marked her actions. Miss Simpkins found, as she listened to the admirable words which dropped from the lips of this young girl, her anger fading. After all, Sophy had some good points. The white Persian cat liked to nestle on her shoulder, and rub its soft head against her soft cheek. Miss Simpkins fancied that the cat looked melancholy since Sophy's departure. In short, knowing well in her heart that she would find it extremely difficult to get anyone else to take the much-enduring Sophy's place, she consented to have her back again on trial.

"But not at once," said Miss Simpkins, "for I have just let this house, furnished, to a friend. I don't really know what your sister will do, Miss May, but Barker and I and the cats are quite as many as can travel comfortably together. I shall be back here by the end of September, and will receive your sister, if she faithfully promises to behave herself."

These terms being quite to Janet's satisfaction, she closed with Miss Simpkins's offer, and left the house in Sophy's company in high good humor.

"Now you have behaved well, and you shall hear of the treat I have in store for you," she said to her sister. "But, first of all, let us go to one of the shipping offices to find out at what hour the next steamer sails for Cork."