ife, came forward with an assurance and a readiness
which must have lain dormant in his blood, awaiting the magic of this
moment.

"Since my name would convey nothing to Mademoiselle," he said, with a
bow which he had assuredly not learnt in Farlingford, "it was useless to
mention it. But it is at the disposal of Mademoiselle, nevertheless. It
is an English name--Barebone. I am the Englishman who has been fortunate
enough to engage the interest of your father, who journeyed to England
to find me--and found me."

He broke off with a laugh, spreading out his arms to show himself, as it
were, and ask indulgence.

"I have a heritage, it appears, in France," he went on, "but know
nothing of it, yet. For the weather has been bad and our voyage a stormy
one. I was to have been told during the journey, but we had no time for
that. And I know no more than you, mademoiselle."

Juliette had changed colour, and her cheeks, which were usually of a
most delicate pink, were suddenly quite white. She did not touch upon
the knowledge to which he referred, but went past it to its object.

"You do not speak like an Englishman," she said. "For I know one or two.
One came to the school at Saintes. He was a famous English prelate, and
he had the manner--well, of a tree. And when he spoke, it was what one
would expect of a tree, if it suddenly had speech. But you--you are not
like that."

Loo Barebone laughed with an easy gaiety, which seemed infectious,
though Marie did not join in it, but stood scowling in the doorway.

"Yes," he said, "you have described them exactly. I know a hundred who
are like great trees. Many are so, but they are kind and still like
trees--the English, when you know them, mademoiselle."

"They?" she said, with her prettily arched eyebrows raised high.

"We, I mean," he answered, quickly, taking her meaning in a flash. "I
almost forgot that I was an Englishman. It is my heritage, perhaps,
that makes me forget--or yourself. It is so easy and natural to consider
one's self a Frenchman--and so pleasant."

Marie shuffled with her feet and made a movement of impatience, as if to
remind them that they were still far from the business in hand and were
merely talking of themselves, which is the beginning of all things--or
may be the beginning of the inevitable end.

"But I forgot," said Barebone, at once. "And it is getting late. Your
father has had a slight misfortune. He has sprained his ankle. He is on
board m