“My grandfather is Philip Carre, of Belfontaine,” I said, with a touch of the ruffle in my voice, “and he is a great friend of Mr. Claude Gray—­”

“The Quaker,” she said, with a pinch of the thin little lips.

And then the door opened, and, with the usual curtsey, still another Miss Mauger joined us, and her little ormer shells were all brown, and she wore no spectacles, and the corners of her mouth were on a level with the centre, and looked as if they might on occasion even go up instead of down.  She looked at me half mistrustfully, like a bird which doubts one’s intentions towards its bit of plunder, and then, just like the bird, seemed to gauge my innocence of evil, and bent and whispered into her sister’s gray and brown ormer shells.

“My sister informs me that Mademoiselle Le Marchant has been apprised of your visit and has expressed a desire to see you, and so—­”

“Under the circumstances,” said the other.

“Under the circumstances, we will make an exception from our invariable rule and permit this interview.”

“On the understanding—­” began the other.

“On the understanding that it is not to form a precedent—­”

“And also,” said the younger sister hastily, “that one of us is present.”

“Certainly, that one of us is present,” said the elder.

“By all means,” I said, “and I am very much obliged to you.  I really do not mean to eat Carette, nor even to run away with her.”

“We should certainly prevent any attempt of the kind,” said the elder sister severely.

They whispered together for a moment, then she shook out her prim skirts and dropped me a curtsey, and went away to fetch Carette.

“You see we have to be very strict in such matters,” said the younger Miss Mauger, settling herself very gracefully on a chair so that her skirts disposed themselves in nice straight lines.  “With forty young ladies under one’s charge one cannot be too careful.”

“I am quite sure you are very careful of them, ma’m’zelle,” I said, at which she actually smiled a very little bird-like smile.  “I will tell Aunt Jeanne how very careful you are next time I see her, and she will laugh and say, ’Young maids and young calves thrive best under the eyes of their mistress.’”

“I do not know much about calves”—­and then the door opened and Carette came in.

She ran up to me with both hands outstretched.

“Oh, Phil, I was so afraid I was not to see you!  And you are going away?  How big you’re getting!  How long will you be away?”

This was very delightful, for I had been fearing that the little touch of stiffness, which I had experienced the last time I saw her, and which I now quite understood, might have grown out of knowledge.

“We are going first to the West Indies and then on to Canada.  It may be a long time before I’m back, and I did want to see you once more before I went.  I began to fear I was not going to.”