‘I am afraid it is.  And you posted the book as I said?’

‘Yes.’  She added hurriedly, as if to change the subject, ’I have told nobody that we are sisters, or that you are known in any way to me or to mother or to any of us.  I thought that would be best, from what you said.’

‘Yes, perhaps it is best for the present.’

’The box of clothes came safely, and I find very little alteration will be necessary to make the dress do beautifully for me on Sundays.  It is quite new-fashioned to me, though I suppose it was old-fashioned to you.  O, and Berta, will the title of Lady Petherwin descend to you when your mother-in-law dies?’

‘No, of course not.  She is only a knight’s widow, and that’s nothing.’

‘The lady of a knight looks as good on paper as the lady of a lord.’

’Yes.  And in other places too sometimes.  However, about your journey home.  Be very careful; and don’t make any inquiries at the stations of anybody but officials.  If any man wants to be friendly with you, try to find out if it is from a genuine wish to assist you, or from admiration of your fresh face.’

‘How shall I know which?’ said Picotee.

Ethelberta laughed.  ’If Heaven does not tell you at the moment I cannot,’ she said.  ’But humanity looks with a different eye from love, and upon the whole it is most to be prized by all of us.  I believe it ends oftener in marriage than do a lover’s flying smiles.  So that for this and other reasons love from a stranger is mostly worthless as a speculation; and it is certainly dangerous as a game.  Well, Picotee, has any one paid you real attentions yet?’

‘No—­that is—­’

‘There is something going on.’

‘Only a wee bit.’

’I thought so.  There was a dishonesty about your dear eyes which has never been there before, and love-making and dishonesty are inseparable as coupled hounds.  Up comes man, and away goes innocence.  Are you going to tell me anything about him?’

‘I would rather not, Ethelberta; because it is hardly anything.’

‘Well, be careful.  And mind this, never tell him what you feel.’

‘But then he will never know it.’

’Nor must he.  He must think it only.  The difference between his thinking and knowing is often the difference between your winning and losing.  But general advice is not of much use, and I cannot give more unless you tell more.  What is his name?’

Picotee did not reply.

’Never mind:  keep your secret.  However, listen to this:  not a kiss—­not so much as the shadow, hint, or merest seedling of a kiss!’

‘There is no fear of it,’ murmured Picotee; ‘though not because of me!’

’You see, my dear Picotee, a lover is not a relative; and he isn’t quite a stranger; but he may end in being either, and the way to reduce him to whichever of the two you wish him to be is to treat him like the other.  Men who come courting are just like bad cooks:  if you are kind to them, instead of ascribing it to an exceptional courtesy on your part, they instantly set it down to their own marvellous worth.’