"Mine is Philip. Won't you call me Philip?"

She flashed a look at her mother, regarded him again, and then answered:

"Yes, Philip--sir."

D'Avranche wanted to laugh, but the face of the child was sensitive and
serious, and he only smiled. "Say 'Yes, Philip', won't you?" he asked.

"Yes, Philip," came the reply obediently.

After a moment of speech with Madame Landresse, Philip stooped to say
good-bye to the child. "Good-bye, Guida."

A queer, mischievous little smile flitted over her face--a second, and it
was gone.

"Good-bye, sir--Philip," she said, and they parted. Her last words kept
ringing in his ears as he made his way homeward. "Good-bye, sir--Philip"
--the child's arrangement of words was odd and amusing, and at the same
time suggested something more. "Good-bye, Sir Philip," had a different
meaning, though the words were the same.

"Sir Philip--eh?" he said to himself, with a jerk of the head--"I'll be
more than that some day."