t a strangely innocent young man!--or is it impudent
boldness?"--That was what was going on in her mind, I think, as she bored
at me with the little gimlets. But she said--) "We make it an inflexible
rule not to allow our young ladies to see any but their own relations,
except, of course, with the special permission of their relatives or
guardians."

"If I had known, I would have got a letter from Aunt Jeanne Falla, but such
a thing never entered into my head for a moment."

"You know Madame Le Marchant--Miss Jeanne Falla that was?"

"Know Aunt Jeanne?--Well, I should--I mean, yes, madame,--I mean
ma'm'zelle. She has known me from the day I was born."

"Ah!... And you think she would have accorded you permission to see
mademoiselle?"

"Why, of course she would. She would never dream of me being in Peter Port
without calling to see Carette."

She looked me through and through again, and said at last--

"If you will excuse me for a moment, I will consult with my sisters. It is
a matter which concerns them also, and I should wish them to share the
responsibility," and she dropped me another frigid little salute and backed
out of the door.

And I felt very sorry for Carette, and did not wonder so much now at the
little stiffnesses of manner I had noticed in her the last time we met.

And presently the door opened, and the little lady stole in again with the
same little formal greeting, and, after looking at me till I felt cold
about the neck, said, "You wish to see Mademoiselle Le Marchant?" And then
I noticed that the little ormer shell curls about this little lady's face
were not all gray, but mixed gray and brown, and that this little face was,
if anything, still more frigidly ungracious than the last, a regular little
martinet of a face, and I knew that it must be another of the Miss Maugers.

"Yes, ma'm'zelle, with your permission."

"My sister states that you are acquainted with Madame Le Marchant, of
Beaumanoir, whom we used to know intimately--"

"I have known Aunt Jeanne from the day I was born," I said, perhaps a
trifle vehemently, for the absurdity of all these precautions between
myself and Carette began to ruffle me. In fact, I began to feel almost as
though there must be some grounds for their doubts about me which I had
never hitherto recognised in myself, and it made me more decided than ever
to have my own way in the matter.

"My grandfather is Philip Carre, of Belfontaine," I said, with a tou