The next day was Sunday, and it arose in great beauty and majesty. The sun shone out of a cloudless sky, the flowers bloomed everywhere, the birds sang, the heat was excessive, the gardens looked their best. Visitors came and went. Irene, no longer in the objectionable red frock, but now dressed as a pretty young girl of her age ought to be dressed, walked by Rosamund's side and chatted about books, about music, about all sorts of things, the existence of which she had scarcely known a few weeks ago. Her intellect was of such a keen and brilliant order that she grasped knowledge almost as easily as she imbibed her food. Rosamund felt more and more proud of her.