“I can’t behave nicely in this great creature,” she said, patting the fat cushioned arms, “and the Mother Superior would be horribly shocked, but don’t let’s mind.  Now, do tell me something about this plan.  You see,” gravely, “I really don’t know the world very well yet—­I have always been at the Convent near Tours until a month ago—­even in the holidays, since I was seven—­and the Sisters never told me anything about outside, except that it was a place of pitfalls and that men were dreadful creatures.  I was very happy there, except I wanted to get out all the time, and when I did and found Uncle and Aunt more tiresome than the Sisters—­there seemed no help for it—­only Mr. Greenbank.  So I accepted him this morning.  But—­” and this awful thought caused her whole countenance to change.  “Now I come to think of it, the usual getting married means you would have to stay with the man—­wouldn’t you?  And he wants—­he wants to kiss—­I mean,” hurriedly, “you would be lovely to marry because I would never have to see you again!”

Michael Arranstoun put his head back and laughed; she was perfectly delicious—­he began to dislike Mr. Greenbank.

His tea was quite forgotten.

“Er—­of course not,” he agreed.  “Well, I could get a special license, if you could tell me exactly how you stand, and your whole name and your parents’ names, and everything, and we could get their consent—­but I conclude your father, at least, is no longer alive.”

Miss Delburg had a very grown-up air now.

“No, my parents are both dead,” she told him.  “Papa three years ago, and Mamma for ages, and I never saw them much anyhow.  They were always travelling about, and Mamma was a Frenchwoman and a Catholic.  Her family did not speak to her because she married a Protestant and an American.  And the worry it was for me being brought up in a convent! because Papa would have me a Protestant, so I do believe I have got a little religion of my own that is not like either!”

“Yes?”

She continued her narrative in the intervals of the joy of munching another cake.

“Papa was very rich, and it’s all mine—­Only it appears he did not approve of the freedom of American women—­and so tied it up so that I can’t get it until I am an old maid of twenty-one—­or get married.  Is it not disgusting?”

Michael’s thoughts were now concentrating upon the vital points.

“But have you not got a guardian or something?”

“Not exactly.  Only an old lawyer person who is now in London.  I have seen Papa’s will, and I know I can marry when and whom I like if I get his consent—­and he would give it in a minute, he is sick of me!”

“How fortunate!” Then restlessness seized him again, and he got up, gulped down his tea, and began his pacing.

“I do think it would be a good plan, and we must do it if we can get this person’s leave—­Yes, and do it quickly before we change our minds, or something interferes.  Everyone would think we were perfectly mad, but as it suits us both, that is no one’s business—­Only—­you are rather young—­and er—­I don’t know Greenbank.  You are sure he is horrid?”