He laughed.

“Why, when I come back, little woman,” he answered, “you will be almost grown up.  Come, dry your eyes now, and I tell you what we will do.  You shall come back with me to breakfast, and then drive up to the station and see us off.”

“I should like to come,” she whispered, “but I am afraid of the other gentleman.”

“Very likely we sha’n’t see him,” Aynesworth answered.  “If we do, he won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t like his face!” she persisted.

“Well, we won’t look at it,” Aynesworth answered.  “But breakfast we must have!”

They were half way through the meal, and Juliet had quite recovered her spirits when Wingrave entered.  He looked at the two with impassive face, and took his place at the table.  He wished the child “Good morning” carelessly, but made no remark as to her presence there.

“I have just been telling Juliet some good news,” Aynesworth remarked.  “I went to see Mr. Saunders, the Vicar here, last night, and he has found out some of her father’s friends.  They are going to look after her.”

Wingrave showed no interest in the information.  But a moment later he addressed Juliet for the first time.

“Are you glad that you are going away from Tredowen?” he asked.

“I am very, very sorry,” she answered, the tears gathering once more in her eyes.

“But you want to go to school, don’t you, and see other girls?” he asked.

She shook her head decidedly.

“It will break my heart,” she said quietly, “to leave Tredowen.  I think that if I have to go away from the pictures and the garden, and the sea, I shall never be happy any more.”

“You are a child,” he remarked contemptuously; “you do not understand.  If you go away, you can learn to paint pictures yourself like those at Tredowen.  You will find that the world is full of other beautiful places!”

The sympathetic aspect of his words was altogether destroyed by the thin note of careless irony, which even the child understood.  She felt that he was mocking her.

“I could never be happy,” she said simply, “away from Tredowen.  You understand, don’t you?” she added, turning confidentially to Aynesworth.

“You think so now, dear,” he said, “but remember that you are very young.  There are many things for you to learn before you grow up.”

“I am not a dunce,” she replied.  “I can talk French and German, and do arithmetic, and play the organ.  Father used to teach me these things.  I can learn at Tredowen very well.  I hope that my friends will let me stay here.”

Wingrave took no more notice of her.  She and Aynesworth walked together to the station.  As they passed the little whitewashed cottage, she suddenly let go his hand, and darted inside.

“Wait one moment,” she cried breathlessly.

She reappeared almost at once, holding something tightly clenched in her right hand.  She showed it to him shyly.