"But you are a good deal beside me. It is true you are small; but how old are you?"
"I was eleven my last birthday. I am two years younger than dear Irene; but Irene says that I am ten years older than she is in some ways."
"Twenty--thirty--forty, I should say," remarked Lucy, with a laugh. "Well, come along; let's have a good time. What shall we do?"
"Whatever you like--Lucy," said the little girl, making a pause before she ventured on the Christian name.
"That's right. I am glad you called me Lucy. We all like you, little Agnes; and it isn't in every school where the sister of one of the governesses would be tolerated as you are tolerated here."
"I don't quite understand what you mean by that."
"Well, your sister is one of the governesses."
"It is very kind of you; but they were all fond of me at Mrs. England's school; and when I was at that sort of school at Mrs. Henderson's, where there were boys as well as girls, the girls used to quarrel with the boys as to who was to play with me. People have always been kind to me. I don't exactly know why."
"But I do, I think," said Lucy; "because you are taking, and can make people love you. It is a great gift. Now, give me your hand. We'll walk along by the riverside. It's so pretty there, is it not?"
Lucy walked fast. Presently they sat down on a low mossy bank, and Lucy spread out her skirt so that Agnes might sit on it, so as to avoid any chance of taking a chill.
"You see how careful I am of you," said the elder girl.
"All the girls are careful of me like that," said little Agnes. "I don't exactly know why. Am I so very, very precious?"
"I expect you are to those who love you," said Lucy, coming more and more under the glamour of little Agnes's strange power of inspiring affection.
"When you look at me like that you seem quite kind, but sometimes you don't look very kind; and then, you are not fond of my darling Irene and my dearest Rosamund. I wonder why?"
"Oh! if it is anything nasty I would rather not know."
"But I think you ought to know about your Irene. Nobody loved her at all--nobody could bear her--until----Why, what is the matter, child?"
"Don't--don't go on; I won't listen," said little Agnes.
Her face was as white as death; her eyes were dilated.