“Looks don’t matter so much as right behaviour,” she returned. “She displeases her father very much with what he calls her advanced ideas. I don’t know what they are, I’m sure, except wanting to get away from a good home. I wish you would speak to her, Miss Page. She thinks so much of you. You might bring her to her senses.” “Poor little Sylvia,” said Miss Page, softly. “She’s very young, my dear--and she’s a sweet child at heart. Do ask her to come to tea with me to-morrow.” “I think your French friend is most interesting,” remarked Mrs. Dakin, suddenly, putting down her coffee cup, and taking a seat beside Anne on the sofa. Her hostess turned to her with a pleased smile. “I’m so glad. You are always appreciative, Madge.” “I never heard any one talk like you two,” continued Mrs. Dakin, slowly. “I’m afraid we talked too much.” The quick colour sprang to her cheeks. “I hope you weren’t bored?” She included the two women in a swift, apologetic glance. “Talking too much is an old habit of mine, a habit of long ago, which revives when I see François. I----” she paused suddenly. “I was never so interested in my life,” said Mrs. Dakin, with such obvious sincerity that Anne’s face cleared. “Very clever, I’m sure. Very clever,” murmured Mrs. Carfax. “Tell me, my dear, what shall I do about Emma? The girl gets worse and worse. She’s no good at all as a parlourmaid. I’ve been thinking about her all dinner-time, and wondering whether I should give her notice, or whether----” The entrance of the three men interrupted the heart-searchings of Mrs. Carfax. Monsieur Fontenelle stood a moment just within the door. His eyes fell upon Mrs. Dakin, who sat in the corner of the sofa, her slender little figure in its white dress showing to advantage against its coloured background. A tremor of pleasure shook her as he drew up a chair of gilded cane, and leaning over the arm of the sofa, began to talk to her. Mr. Carfax and Dr. Dakin, who both made simultaneously for Miss Page’s corner of the room, were met by her with a little amused laugh, to which each responded. “We can’t _both_ talk to her,” declared Mr. Carfax, “because of course we each want her advice.” “I yield to you,” said the Doctor, characteristically. “But you mustn’t keep her too long.” “Time passes all too quickly with Miss Page,” returned Mr. Carfax, with his hearty laugh. “I can make no promises.” “Do you really want to consult me?” asked his hostess, turning to him with her flattering air of undivided, interested attention. “About many things. There’s that case of Mrs. O’Malley’s. It’s really very difficult. Now, what would you advise?” He recounted at length a conversation he had lately held with the drunken old woman, on the circumstances of whose life, though upon this point she was silent, Miss Page’s knowledge was considerably fuller than his own. She listened thoughtfully, and suggested a different method of attack.