apple tree in the garden at the back of the house."

"What house, Mr. Carter?"

"My father's house, of course, Miss Phyllis. And--"

"Oh, but that must be ages ago!" cried she.

Mrs. Hilary rose, cast one glance at me, and turned to the
writing table. Her pen began to scratch almost immediately.

"And under the apple tree," I pursued, "we had many pleasant
conversations."

"What about?" asked Miss Phyllis.

"One thing and another," I returned. "The schoolroom windows
looked out that way--a circumstance which made matters more
comfortable for everybody."

"I should have thought--" began Miss Phyllis, smiling slightly,
but keeping an apprehensive eye on Mrs. Hilary's back.

"Not at all," I interrupted. "My sisters saw us, you see. Well,
of course they entertained an increased respect for me, which was
all right, and a decreased respect for the governess, which was
also all right. We met in the hour allotted to French
lessons--by an undesigned but appropriate coincidence."

"I shall say about thirty-five, Phyllis," called Mrs. Hilary from