But Robin lingered, and Priscilla saw so much bright curiosity in his eyes that she felt she was giving an impression of mysteriousness; and this being the last thing she wanted to do she thought she had better explain a little—­always a dangerous course to take—­and she said, “My uncle taught languages for years, and is old now and tired, and we both long for the country and to be quiet.  He taught me English—­that’s why it’s as good as it is.  His name”—­She was carried away by the desire to blow out that questioning light in Robin’s eyes—­“his name is Schultz.”

The vicar bowed slightly, and Robin asked with an air of great politeness but still with that light in his eyes if he were to address her, then, as Miss Schultz.

“I’m afraid so,” said Priscilla, regretfully.  It really sounded gross.  Miss Schultz?  She might just as well have chosen something romantic while she was about it, for Fritzing in the hurry of many cares had settled nothing yet with her about a name.

Robin stared at her very hard, her answer seemed to him so odd.  He stared still more when she looked up with the air of one who has a happy thought and informed him that her Christian name was Ethel.

“Ethel?” echoed Robin.

“It’s a very pretty name, I think,” said Priscilla, looking pleased.

“Our housemaid’s called Ethel, and so is the little girl that wheels the gardener’s baby’s perambulator,” was Robin’s impetuous comment.

“That doesn’t make it less pretty,” said Priscilla, frowning.

“Surely,” interrupted the vicar mildly, “Ethel is not a German name?”

“I was christened after my mother,” said Priscilla gently; and this was strictly true, for the deceased Grand Duchess had also been Priscilla.  Then a feeling came over her that she was getting into those depths where persons with secrets begin to flounder as a preliminary to letting them out, and seized with panic she got up off the slab.

“You are half English, then,” said Robin triumphantly, his bright eyes snapping.  He looked very bold and masterful staring straight at her, his head thrown back, his handsome face twinkling with interest.  But a person of Priscilla’s training could not possibly be discomposed by the stare of any Robin, however masterful; had it not been up to now her chief function in life to endure being stared at with graceful indifference?  “I did not say so,” she said, glancing briefly at him; and including both father and son in a small smile composed indescribably of graciousness and chill she added, “It really is damp here—­I don’t think I’ll wait for my uncle,” and slightly bowing walked away without more ado.

She walked very slowly, her skirts gathered loosely in one hand, every line of her body speaking of the most absolute self-possession and unapproachableness.  Never had the two men seen any one quite so calm.  They watched her in silence as she went up the path and out at the gate; then Robin looked down at his father and drew his hand more firmly through his arm and said with a slight laugh, “Come on, pater, let’s go home.  We’re dismissed.”