ad called, and Mrs. Le Page and Charlotte had
come to tea at Cow Farm. This had been a year ago, when Jeremy had been
only seven; nevertheless, he had been present during the first part of
the ceremony, and Charlotte had struck him as entirely amazing.

He had simply gazed at her with his mouth open, forgetting all his good
manners. She was at this time nine or ten years of age but very small
and, as they say of the most modern kind of doll, "perfect in every
particular." She had wonderful hair of a bright rippling gold; her
cheeks were pink and her eyes were blue, and she was so beautifully
dressed that you could not take in details but must simply surrender
yourself to a cloudy film of white or blue, with everything so perfectly
in its place that it seemed to the rough and ready Jeremy quite
unearthly. Of course she had to be very careful how she walked, when she
sat down, in what way she moved her hands and feet, and how she blew
her nose. It was wonderful to see her do these things, she did them so
naturally and yet always with a sense of an effort overcome for the
good of humanity. Her mother never ceased to empty praises at her feet,
appealing to visitors with: "Isn't Charlotte too lovely to-day?" or
"Really, Mrs. Cole, did you ever see anything like Charlotte's hair?"
or "Just a moment, Mrs. Cole, I'm sure you've never seen such hands and
feet on any human being before!"--and it was impossible to tell whether
or no Charlotte was moved by these praises, because she never said
anything at all. She was almost completely silent, and once, at the
tea-gathering in Cow Farm, when she suddenly said: "I'm tired, Mama,"
Jeremy nearly jumped from his chair, so astonished he was.

Jeremy had, during the year that intervened between that visit and this,
sometimes thought of Charlotte, and he had looked back upon her, not as
a little girl but as something strange, fantastic, wonderfully coloured,
whom it would be interesting to see again. He wondered why Mary and
Helen could not be like that, instead of running about and screaming and
becoming red in the face. He said once to Mary that she should imitate
Charlotte, and the scene that followed was terrible. Mary, from that
moment, hated Charlotte with an overpowering hatred.

Here this year they were again. Mrs. Le Page with her long neck,
her beautiful pearl ear-rings, her pale watery eyes and her tapering
fingers; Charlotte just as before, silent, beautiful and precious. The