u the tea. The
other eats mice and fights the cat. Felicite doesn't eat mice, and
fights me."

"I loved her."

"So do I. And I could love you for loving her."

"Perhaps you'd better not."

"Why? It's safe and allowable for men of my age to love little girls."

"I'm different from other little girls. You said so yourself. Besides
what is your age?"

"Twenty-nine."

"You look about nineteen. Our Chauffeulier looks older than you do."

"Chauffeulier? Oh, I see, that's your name for Terry. It's rather
smart."

"I call it a title, not a name," said I. "I thought he ought to have
one, so I dubbed him that."

"He ought to be complimented."

"I mean him to be."

"Come now, tell me what name you've invented for me, Miss Beechy."

I shook my head. "You've got a ready-made title. But you look too boyish
to live up to it. The Chauffeulier would come up to my idea of a baronet
better than you do."

"Oh, you don't have to be dignified really to be a baronet, you know.
Terry--er--you mustn't mention to him that I told you; but he may be
something a good deal bigger than a baronet one day."

"He's a good deal bigger than a baronet now," said I, laughing, and
measuring Sir Ralph from head to foot. "But what may he be one day?"

"I mustn't say more. But if you're at all interested in him, that will
be enough to fix your attention."

"What would be the good of fixing my attention on him, if that's what
you mean," I inquired, "when he's got his attention fixed upon another?"

"Oh, you mustn't judge by appearances," said Sir Ralph hastily. "He
likes you awfully; though, of course, as you're so young, he can't show
it as he would to an older girl."

"I shall grow older," said I. "Even before we finish this trip I shall
be a _little_ older."

"Of course you will," Sir Ralph assured me soothingly. "By that time,
Terry will, no doubt, have screwed up courage to show you how much he
likes you."

"I shouldn't have thought he lacked courage," said I.

"Only where girls are concerned," explained Sir Ralph.

"He seems brave enough with my cousin Maida. It's Mamma and me he
doesn't say much to, unless we speak to him first."

"You see he's horribly afraid of being thought a fortune-hunter. He's
almost morbidly sensitive in that way."

"O-oh, I see," I echoed. "Is that the reason he's so stand-off with
us--because he knows we're rich?"

"Yes. Otherwise he'd be delightful, just as he is with Miss Destrey,
with whom h