Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the school children, the Leaves themselves, and even of Rosamund, when they witnessed this sight. Rosamund's first impulse was to fly up to Irene, kiss her passionately, and assure her that she was a darling, and that nothing would induce her ever to forsake her. But on second thoughts she decided that it was best to take no notice. Accordingly, the children pursued their games, for now tea was almost a thing of the past, and Irene found herself enjoying life as she had not yet enjoyed it. Never was any one more daring seen. She was the centre of attraction. From being dreaded, she was adored. Who but she could climb to the very highest branch of the tallest tree? Who but she could swing so high that she seemed almost to turn a somersault in the air before she came down again? Who but she could invent the most daring games? And then, when all other things failed, who but she could tell such weird stories? Her eyes shone; her lips were wreathed in smiles. She looked the very essence of beauty and happiness. Was this the ogre of The Follies, the terrible girl who kept every one away from the place, whom the servants dreaded, whom the governesses fled from?