"You'd better go away, Margot," she ordered clearly, "You can't stay
here and talk so to me--" the childish simplicity of her phrases was
absurdly inadequate to express her scorn, "You do not know that I have
a vairee bad temper--I make myself proud, proud, proud when I lose it
--but it will make you vairee unhappy if I do--I say and I do most
dreadful things when I'm angry--If I call for the Major he will come
and send you away--for always and forevaire--as he did Mademoiselle
D'Ormy--and no matter how sorry I am afterward he will not let you
stay--"

Indeed, this idea of appealing to her grandfather had come the instant
before when she heard his voice outside interrupting Piqueur's song.
She limped swiftly across the space toward the window, she leaned far
out and called to her grandfather, who stood in the courtyard below,
gravely inspecting the lame mare that the boy had brought from the
stable. So intent was Felicia with her question that she forgot her
recent fear of the Major.

"Grandy!" she called, her clear tones ringing down to him, "Grandy,
you will have to come and send this Margot away--you will--"

He came up the stairs to her slowly, pausing formally outside her door
to tap for Margot to open for him; but even before he was in the room,
looking very pale and stern and old with his beautiful head lifted
high above the ruffled shirt and his peaked hat held in his hand, the
girl's eager appeal had begun.

"This Margot," Felicia's words tumbled impetuously, "She's been
telling me lies--she says Maman isn't here--that she isn't in the