in Mr. Balfour's statesmanship. I believe--
far-sighted man that he is, and with his marvellous apprehension of
the English character--"

"'Tis a Scotchman's first aptitude," murmured Brother Copas, nodding
assent.

"--I believe Mr. Balfour looked beyond the immediate effect of the
Act and saw that, after the Municipalities' and County Councils'
first success in setting up secondary schools of their own,
each with its quota of poor, non-paying children, our sturdy
British independence would rise against the--er--contact.
The self-respecting parent is bound to say in time, 'No, I will _not_
have my son, still less my daughter, sitting with Tom, Dick and
Harry.' Indeed, I see signs of this already--most encouraging signs.
I have two more pupils this term than last, both children of
respectable station."

"I congratulate you, ma'am, and I feel sure that Mr. Balfour
would congratulate himself, could he hear. But meantime the
private-venture schools have been hit, especially those not fortunate
enough to be 'recognised' by the Board of Education."

"I seek no such recognition, sir," said Miss Dickinson stiffly.

Brother Copas bowed.

"Forgive, ma'am, the intrusive ghost of a professional interest.
I myself once kept a private school for boys. A precarious venture
always, and it required no Education Act to wreck mine."

"Indeed?" Miss Dickinson raised her eyebrows in faint surprise, and
anon contracted them. "Had I known that you belonged to the
scholastic profession--" she began, but leaving the sentence
unfinished, appeared to relapse into thought.

"Believe me, ma'am," put in Brother Copas, "I mentioned it casually,
not as hinting at any remission of your fees."

"No, no. But I was thinking that it might considerably soften
the--er--objection. You are not the child's parent, you say?
Nor grandparent?"

"Her godparent only, and that by adoption. In so much as I make
myself responsible for her school fees, you may consider me her
guardian. Her father, Brother Bonaday, is a decayed gentleman,
sometime of independent means, who married late in life, and, on top
of this, was indiscreet enough to confide his affairs to a trusted
family solicitor."

"Dear, dear! Why did you not tell me all this to begin with?"
demanded Miss Dickinson, rising. "Shall we consider it agreed,
then?--the child to come to me as soon as you wish."

"I think we must first discover if she's willing," answered Brother
Copas,