“It would break my heart, of course,” she declared, “but I would do it and trust to time to heal it up again.  Tredowen seems like home to me, but it isn’t really, you know.  Some day, Sir Wingrave Seton may want to come back and live there himself.  Are you quite certain, Mr. Pengarth, that he won’t be angry to hear that we have been living at the house all this time?”

“Certain,” Mr. Pengarth declared firmly.  “He left everything entirely in my hands.  He did not wish me to let it, but he did not care about its being altogether uninhabited.  The arrangement I was able to make with your guardian was a most satisfactory one.”

“But surely he will come back himself some time?” she asked,

The lawyer shook his head sorrowfully.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that Sir Wingrave has no affection for the place whatever.”

“No affection for Tredowen,” she repeated wonderingly.  “Do you know what I think, Mr. Pengarth?  I think that it is the most beautiful house in the world!”

“And yet you talk of leaving it.”

“I don’t want to go,” she answered, “but I don’t want to be accepting things all my life from someone whose name even I do not know.”

“Well, well,” he said, “you must wait until I have written my letter.  Time enough to talk about that later on.  Now, if you won’t stay to lunch, you must come and see Rachael and have some cake and a glass of wine.”

“How sweet of you,” she exclaimed.  “I’m frightfully hungry.  Can I do anything to stop growing, Mr. Pengarth?  I’m getting taller and taller!”

She stood up.  She was head and shoulders taller than the little lawyer, slim as a lath, and yet wonderfully graceful.  She laughed down at him and made a little grimace.

“I’m a giraffe, am I not?” she declared; “and I’m still growing.  Do show me your garden, Mr. Pengarth.  I want to see your hollyhocks.  Everyone is talking about them.”

They were joined in a few minutes by a prim, dignified little lady, ridiculously like Mr. Pengarth, whom he called sister, and she Miss Rachael.  Juliet walked down the garden between them.

“Sister,” Mr. Pengarth said, “Juliet has come today to see me on business.  In effect, she has come to remind me that she is grown up.”

“Grown up,” Miss Rachael protested vigorously, “rubbish!”

“I am nineteen years old,” Juliet declared.

“And what if you are,” Miss Rachael replied briskly.  “In my young days we were in the nursery at nineteen.”

“Quite so,” Mr. Pengarth assented with relief.  “You took me by storm just now, Miss Juliet.  After all, you are only a child.”

“I am old enough to feel and to mean all that I said to you, Mr. Pengarth,” she answered gravely.  “And that reminds me, too—­there was something else I meant to ask you.”

“Sister,” Mr. Pengarth said, “have you ordered the wine and the cake?”

“Bless me, no!” Miss Rachael declared.  “It shall be ready in five minutes.”