“No, I’ve been very busy. Come and tell me how you’ve got on with the little dragon.” “Can’t stop. She bade me take a run after my French, so that I might be ready for my drawing, and so I must.” “It’s too warm to run. Sit down and amuse your deserted brother, who has had no society but bees and lizards for an hour.” He drew her down as he spoke, and Bella obeyed; for, in spite of his indolence, he was one to whom all submitted without dreaming of refusal. “What have you been doing? Muddling your poor little brains with all manner of elegant rubbish?” “No, I’ve been enjoying myself immensely. Jean is _so_ interesting, so kind and clever. She didn’t bore me with stupid grammar, but just talked to me in such pretty French that I got on capitally, and like it as I never expected to, after Lucia’s dull way of teaching it.” “What did you talk about?” “Oh, all manner of things. She asked questions, and I answered, and she corrected me.” “Questions about our affairs, I suppose?” “Not one. She don’t care two sous for us or our affairs. I thought she might like to know what sort of people we were, so I told her about Papa’s sudden death, Uncle John, and you, and Ned; but in the midst of it she said, in her quiet way, ‘You are getting too confidential, my dear. It is not best to talk too freely of one’s affairs to strangers. Let us speak of something else.’” “What were you talking of when she said that, Bell?” “You.” “Ah, then no wonder she was bored.” “She was tired of my chatter, and didn’t hear half I said; for she was busy sketching something for me to copy, and thinking of something more interesting than the Coventrys.” “How do you know?” “By the expression of her face. Did you like her music, Gerald?” “Yes. Was she angry when I clapped?” “She looked surprised, then rather proud, and shut the piano at once, though I begged her to go on. Isn’t Jean a pretty name?” “Not bad; but why don’t you call her Miss Muir?” “She begged me not. She hates it, and loves to be called Jean, alone. I’ve imagined such a nice little romance about her, and someday I shall tell her, for I’m sure she has had a love trouble.” “Don’t get such nonsense into your head, but follow Miss Muir’s well-bred example and don’t be curious about other people’s affairs. Ask her to sing tonight; it amuses me.” “She won’t come down, I think. We’ve planned to read and work in my boudoir, which is to be our study now. Mamma will stay in her room, so you and Lucia can have the drawing room all to yourselves.” “Thank you. What will Ned do?” “He will amuse Mamma, he says. Dear old Ned! I wish you’d stir about and get him his commission. He is so impatient to be doing something and yet so proud he won’t ask again, after you have neglected it so many times and refused Uncle’s help.” “I’ll attend to it very soon; don’t worry me, child. He will do very well for a time, quietly here with us.”