“Lady Shuttleworth can’t stand people who don’t look happy and don’t mend their apron,” said Robin.

“But it’s her own apron,” objected Priscilla.

“Exactly,” said Robin.

“Well, well, I hope they’ll make you comfortable,” said the vicar; and having nothing more that he could well say without having to confess to himself that he was inquisitive, he began to draw Robin away.  “We shall see you and your uncle on Sunday in church, I hope,” he said benevolently, and took off his hat and showed his snow-white hair.

Priscilla hesitated.  She was, it is true, a Protestant, it having been arranged on her mother’s marriage with the Catholic Grand Duke that every alternate princess born to them was to belong to the Protestant faith, and Priscilla being the alternate princess it came about that of the Grand Duke’s three children she alone was not a Catholic.  Therefore she could go to church in Symford as often as she chose; but it was Fritzing’s going that made her hesitate, for Fritzing was what the vicar would have called a godless man, and never went to church.

“You are a member of the Church of England?” inquired the vicar, seeing her hesitate.

“Why, pater, she’s not English,” burst out Robin.

“Not English?” echoed the vicar.

“Is my English so bad?” asked Priscilla, smiling.

“It’s frightfully good,” said Robin; “but the ‘r’s,’ you know—­”

“Ah, yes.  No, I’m not English.  I’m German.”

“Indeed?” said the vicar, with all the interest that attaches to any unusual phenomenon, and a German in Symford was of all phenomena the most unusual.  “My dear young lady, how remarkable.  I don’t remember ever having met a German before in these parts.  Your English is really surprising.  I should never have noticed—­my boy’s ears are quicker than my old ones.  Will you think me unpardonably curious if I ask what made you pitch on Symford as a place to live in?”

“My uncle passed through it years ago and thought it so pretty that he determined to spend his old age here.”

“And you, I suppose, are going to take care of him.”

“Yes,” said Priscilla, “for we only”—­she looked from one to the other and thought herself extremely clever—­“we only have each other in the whole wide world.”

“Ah, poor child—­you are an orphan.”

“I didn’t say so,” said Priscilla quickly, turning red; she who had always been too proud to lie, how was she going to lie now to this aged saint with the snow-white hair?

“Ah well, well,” said the vicar, vaguely soothing.  “We shall see you on Sunday perhaps.  There is no reason that I know of why a member of the German Church should not assist at the services of the Church of England.”  And he took off his hat again, and tried to draw Robin away.