A Modern Tomboy by L.T. Meade

Rosamund was wonderfully wise for her years. She did not make a great fuss over Irene's tears. She did not soothe or pet her overmuch; she merely said, "I am glad you have come to your senses," and then she got up and began to prepare for lunch; so that Irene, feeling like a beaten child, and yet with a sense of happiness which she had never experienced before in the whole course of her life, went off to her own room, smoothed out her tangled hair, tidied her dress, and came down to lunch also, looking quite like a little ordinary Christian child -- the sort of child who might have been first to a kindergarten and then at a good school -- not the wild, obnoxious, terrible little creature whom every servant and every governess alike dreaded.

James was looking fat and strong, because for the last fortnight Irene had not taken the slightest notice of him. The other servants were becoming happy once more. They all worshiped Rosamund; and, truth to tell, Rosamund could not but enjoy her meed of popularity. Still, to-day she was feeling rather nervous. Nevertheless, she was quite determined to carry out her scheme.