“Will it do if you lie down and I say it to you?”

There was another fond, grateful nestling kiss, and some of the Psalms were gone through in the soft, full cadences of a voice that had gained unconscious pathos by having many times used them as a trustful lullaby to a weary sufferer.

If Babie heard the end, it was in the sweetness of sleep, and when Mrs. Evelyn left her, it was with far less judicial desire to inquire into the subject of that endless conversation which had lasted, with slight intermission, from London to Paris.  She was not long left in ignorance, for no sooner had Sydney been assured that nothing ailed Barbara but fatigue, than she burst out, “Mamma, she is the nicest girl I ever saw.”

“Do you like her better than Elvira?”

“Of course I do,” most emphatically.  “Mamma, she loves Sir Kenneth of the Leopard as much as I do.”

Mrs. Evelyn was satisfied.  While Sir Kenneth of the Leopard remained the object of the young ladies’ passion, there was not much fear of any nonsense that was not innocent and happy.

No news of the bag.  Janet was disposed to go back herself or send Delrio, but Sir James declared this impossible; nor would the Evelyns consent to disturb the plan of the journey, and disappoint those who expected them at Engelberg on Saturday by waiting at Paris for tidings.  Janet in vain told herself that she was not under their control, and tried to remain behind by herself with her maid.  They had a quiet, high-bred decisive way of taking things for granted, and arranging for her and she found herself unable to resist; but whenever, in after times, she was unpleasantly reminded of her loss, she always charged it upon them.

Otherwise the journey was prosperous.  Elfie was on the terms of a saucy pet with the General, and Babie’s bright, gentle courtesy and unselfishness won Mrs. Evelyn’s heart, while she and Sydney were as inseparable as ever.

In fact Sydney had been made free of Jotapata.  That celebrated romance had been going on all these years with the elision of several generations; because though few members of the family were allowed to see their twenty-fifth year, it was impossible to squeeze them all into the crusading times; and besides the reigning favourites must be treated to an adventure with Coeur de Lion.

Even thus abridged, it bade fair to last throughout the journey, both the little maidens being sufficiently experienced travellers to care little for the sights from the French railway, and being only stimulated to talk and listen the more eagerly when interrupted by such trifles as meals, companions, and calls to look at objects far less interesting.

“Look, my dears; we are coming to the mountains.  There is the first snowy head.”

“Yes, mamma,” but the hats were together again in the corner.

“Come, Sydney, don’t lose this wonderful winding valley.”