consisted of nothing more elaborate than some mutton broth, a roast
pullet and a custard. But there was a good deal of show, and we were
waited on assiduously by a respectable but fatuous-looking butler. There
was no wine brought out, but some old ale was poured into her ladyship's
glass from a silver flagon. Sister Agnes had a small cover laid apart
from ours. Her dinner consisted of herbs, fruit, bread and water. It
pained me to see that the look of intense melancholy which had lightened
so wonderfully during our forest walk had again overshadowed her face
like a veil. She gave me one long, earnest look as she took her seat at
the table, but after that she seemed scarcely to be aware of my
presence.

We had sat in grim silence for full five minutes, when Lady Chillington
spoke.

"Can you speak French, child?" she said, turning abruptly to me.

"I can read it a little, but I cannot speak it," I replied.

"Nor understand what is said when it is spoken in your presence?"

"No, ma'am."

"So much the better," she answered with a grating laugh. "Children have
long ears, and there is no freedom of conversation when they are
present." With that she addressed some remarks in French to Sister
Agnes, who replied to her in the same language. I knew nothing about my
ears being long, but her ladyship's words had made them tingle as if
they had been boxed. For one thing I was thankful--that no further
remarks were addressed to me during dinner. The conversation in French