e to go and live with
people who will take care of you properly, and be fond of you. Why, you
may have a pony, and all sorts of nice things."

"I don't want a pony," she answered, hanging on his arm. "I don't want
to go away. I want to stay here--and wait till you come back."

He laughed.

"Why, when I come back, little woman," he answered, "you will be almost
grown up. Come, dry your eyes now, and I tell you what we will do. You
shall come back with me to breakfast, and then drive up to the station
and see us off."

"I should like to come," she whispered, "but I am afraid of the other
gentleman."

"Very likely we sha'n't see him," Aynesworth answered. "If we do, he
won't hurt you."

"I don't like his face!" she persisted.

"Well, we won't look at it," Aynesworth answered. "But breakfast we must
have!"

They were half way through the meal, and Juliet had quite recovered her
spirits when Wingrave entered. He looked at the two with impassive face,
and took his place at the table. He wished the child "Good morning"
carelessly, but made no remark as to her presence there.

"I have just been telling Juliet some good news," Aynesworth remarked.
"I went to see Mr. Saunders, the Vicar here, last night, and he has
found out some of her father's friends. They are going to look after
her."

Wingrave showed no interest in the information. But a moment later he
addressed Juliet for the first time.

"Are you glad that you are going away from Tredowen?" he asked.

"I am very, very sorry," she answered, the tears gathering once more in
her eyes.

"But you want to go to school, don't you, and see other girls?" he
asked.

She shook her head decidedly.

"It will break my heart," she said quietly, "to leave Tredowen. I think
that if I have to go away from the pictures and the garden, and the sea,
I shall never be happy any more."

"You are a child," he remarked contemptuously; "you do not understand.
If you go away, you can learn to paint pictures yourself like those
at Tredowen. You will find that the world is full of other beautiful
places!"

The sympathetic aspect of his words was altogether destroyed by the thin
note of careless irony, which even the child understood. She felt that
he was mocking her.

"I could never be happy," she said simply, "away from Tredowen. You
understand, don't you?" she added, turning confidentially to Aynesworth.

"You think so now, dear," he said, "but remember that you are very