They were playing croquet on the lawn, and espying Lulu at the gate, invited her to come in and join them.

She did so, became much interested in the sport, and forgot to go home until the lengthening shadows warned her that it must be very near the tea hour at Ion.

She then bade a hasty good-by and retraced her steps with great expedition and in no tranquil state of mind.  In truth, she was a good deal alarmed as she thought of the possible consequences to herself of her bold disregard of rules.

She arrived at Ion heated and out of breach, and, as a glance at the hall clock told her, fully fifteen minutes late.

Hair and dress were in some disorder, but not thinking of that, in her haste and perturbation, she went directly to the supper-room, where the family were in the midst of their meal.

They all seemed busily engaged with it or in conversation, and she hoped to slip unobserved into her seat.

But to her consternation she perceived, as she drew near, that neither plate nor chair seemed to have been set for her; every place was occupied.

At the same instant Mr. Dinsmore, turning a stern look upon her, remarked, “We have no place here for the rebellious and insubordinate, therefore I have ordered your plate removed; and while you continue to belong to that class, you will take your meals in your own room.”

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand as he spoke, and, filled with anger and chagrin, she turned and flew from the room, never stopping till she had gained her own and slammed the door behind her.

“Before Mr. Lilburn and everybody!” she exclaimed aloud, stamping her foot in impotent rage.

Then catching sight of her figure in the glass, she stood still and gazed, her cheeks reddening more and more with mortification.  Hair and dress were tumbled, the latter slightly soiled with the dust of the road, as were her boots also, and the frill about her neck was crushed and partly tucked in.

She set to work with energy to make herself neat, and had scarcely completed the task when her supper was brought in.  It consisted of abundance of rich sweet milk, fruit, and the nicest of bread and butter.

She ate heartily; then as Agnes carried away the tray, seated herself by the window with her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands, and half involuntarily took a mental review of the day.

The retrospect was not agreeable.

“And I’ll have to tell papa all about it in my diary,” she groaned to herself.  “No, I sha’n’t; what’s the use? it’ll just make him feel badly.  But he said I must, and he trusted me, he trusted me to tell the truth and the whole truth, and I can’t deceive him; I can’t hide anything after that.”

With a heavy sigh she took her writing-desk, set it on the sill to catch the fading light, and wrote: