heard Lily play, too, and has lost her own touch, and
now it is neither one thing nor the other."

"I might speak to her mother," said Madame,
thoughtfully. Madame was American born, but she
married a French gentleman, long since deceased,
and his name sounded well on her circulars. She
and her two under teachers were drinking tea in her
library.

Miss Parmalee, who was a true lover of her pupils,
gasped at Madame's proposition. "Whatever you
do, please do not tell that poor child's mother," said
she.

"I do not think it would be quite wise, if I may
venture to express an opinion," said Miss Acton,
who was a timid soul, and always inclined to shy at
her own ideas.

"But why?" asked Madame.

"Her mother," said Miss Parmalee, "is a quite
remarkable woman, with great strength of character,
but she would utterly fail to grasp the situation."

"I must confess," said Madame, sipping her tea,
"that I fail to understand it. Why any child not an
absolute idiot should so lose her own identity in an-
other's absolutely bewilders me. I never heard of