ed. Not only did he pay for her keep at one of the most expensive
schools in France (Madame's is that, and she prides herself on the
fact), but gave her an allowance "far too large for a schoolgirl" in the
opinion of Mrs. Senter's unknown (to me) informant.

Doesn't this account for everything that looked strange, and for all
that appeared cold-hearted, almost cruel, in Sir Lionel to Ellaline, who
had heard the wrong side of the story, certainly from Madame de
Blanchemain--a silly woman, I fancy--and perhaps even from Madame de
Maluet, whose favourite pupil Ellaline the First was?

No wonder Sir Lionel didn't write to the child, or want her to write to
him, or send her photograph, or anything! And no wonder he dreaded
having her society thrust on him when Madame de Maluet hinted that it
was hardly decent to keep his ward at school any longer. I even
understand now why, when I show the slightest sign of flirtatiousness or
skittishness, he stiffens up, and draws into his shell.

I very politely let Mrs. Senter see that I appreciated her true
disinterestedness in repeating to me this tragic family history; and of
course she was a cat twice over to do it. At the same time, I never
liked her so much in my life, because it was so splendid to have Sir
Lionel not only justified (he hardly needed that with me, at this stage)
but haloed. I think he has behaved like a saint on a stained-glass
window, don't you?

I have interrupted my letter about places and things tremendously, to
tell you the story as it was told to me; but it seemed to come in
appropriately, and I wanted you to know it, so that you might begin to
appreciate Sir Lionel at his true worth in case you have been doubting
him a little up to now.

Everyone has gone down to dinner, I'm afraid, and I must go, too,
because of the Abbey afterward, and not keeping them waiting; but
perhaps, if I skip soup and fish, I may stop long enough to add that
after Gloucester we went to quaint old Ross, sacred to the memory of
"The Man of Ross," who was so revered that a most lovely view over the
River Wye has been named for him. We had lunch there, at a hotel where I
should love to stay, and then passed on, along a perfect road, down the
Wye, till we came to Kerne Bridge, near Goodrich Castle. There we got
out, leaving Buddha as the god in the car, and walked for half a mile
along a romantic path to the ruined castle. It was one of the first
built in England, and there are earl