we’re devoted to each other.  She’s only a child—­just over fourteen—­but she’s simply a wonder!—­the most wonderful musical wonder in the world!—­and she has a perfectly marvellous voice.  Her master Gigue says that when she is sixteen she will have emperors at her feet!  Emperors!  There are only a few,—­but they’ll all be grovelling in the dust before her!  You must prepare some pretty rooms for her, Spruce, those two at the top of the house that look right over the lawn and woods—­and make everything as cosy as you can.  I’ll put the finishing touches.  And I must send to London for a grand piano.  There’s only the dear old spinet in the drawing-room,—­it’s sweet to sing to, and Cicely will love it,—­but she must have a glorious ‘grand’ as well.  I shall wire to her to-day,—­I know she’ll come at once.  She will arrive direct from Paris,—­let me see!”—­and she paused meditatively—­“when can she arrive?  This is Friday,—­yes!—­probably she will arrive here Sunday or Monday morning.  So you can get everything ready.”

“Very well, Miss,” and Mrs. Spruce, with the usual regulation ‘dip’ of respectful submission to her mistress was about to withdraw, when Maryllia called her back and handed over to her care the wicker basket full of visiting-cards.

“Put them all by,”—­she said—­“When Cicely comes we’ll go through them carefully together, and discuss what to eat, drink and avoid.  Till then, I shall blush unseen, wasting my sweetness on the desert air!  Time enough and to spare for making the acquaintance of the ‘county.’  Who was it that said:  Never know your neighbours’?  I forget,—­but he was a wise man, anyway!”

Mrs. Spruce ‘dipped’ a second time in silence, and was then allowed to depart on her various household duties.  The good woman’s thoughts were somewhat chaotically jumbled, and most fervently did she long to send for ‘Passon,’ her trusted adviser and chief consoler, or else go to him herself and ask him what he thought concerning the non-church-going tendencies of her mistress.  Was she altogether a lost sheep?  Was there no hope for her entrance into the heavenly fold?

“Which I can’t and won’t believe she’s wicked,”—­said Mrs. Spruce to herself—­“With that sweet childie face an’ eyes she couldn’t be!  M’appen ’tis bad example,—­’er ’Merican aunt ‘avin’ no religion as ‘twere, an’ ’er uncle, Mr. Frederick, was never no great shakes in ’is young days if all the truth was told.  Well, well!  The Lord ’e knows ‘is own, an’ my ‘pinion is He ain’t a-goin’ to do without Miss Maryllia, for it’s allus ’turn again, turn again, why will ‘ee die’ sort of thing with Him, an’ He don’t give out in ’is patience.  I’m glad she’s goin’ to ’ave a friend to stay with ’er,—­that’ll do ’er good and ‘earten her up—­an’ mebbe the friend’ll want to go to church, an’ Miss Maryllia ‘ull go with her, an’ once they listens to Passon ’twill be all right, for ’is voice do draw you up into a little bit o’ heaven somehow, whether ye likes it or not, an’ if Miss Maryllia once ’ears ’im, she’ll be wanting to ’ear ’im again—­ so it’s best to leave it all in the Lord’s ’ands which makes the hill straight an’ the valleys crooked, an’ knows what’s good for both man and beast.  Miss Maryllia ain’t goin’ to miss the Way, the Truth an’ the Life—­I’m sartin sure o’ that!”