"Well, go on; you are putting it rather straight, you know." "I want to." "Fire away then." "You told someone--I don't know the name--you told somebody that my father was unscroopolus." "Indeed," said Lord Grayleigh. He colored, and looked uneasy. "I told somebody--that is diverting." "It's not diverting," said Sibyl, "it's cruel, it's mean, it's wrong; it's lies--black lies. Now you know." "But whom did I tell?" "Somebody, and somebody told me--I'm not going to tell who told me." "Even suppose I did say anything of the sort, what do you know about that word?" "I found it out. An unscroopolus person is a person who doesn't act right. Do you know that my father never did wrong, never from the time he was borned? My father is quite perfect, God made him so." "Your father is a very nice fellow, Sibyl." "He is much better than nice, he is perfect; he never did anything wrong. He is perfect, same as Lord Jesus is perfect." The little girl looked straight out into the summer landscape. Her lips trembled, on each cheek there flushed a crimson rose. Lord Grayleigh shuffled his feet. Had anyone in all the world told him that he would have listened quietly, and with a sense of respect, to such a story as he was now hearing, he would have roared with laughter. But he was not at all inclined to laugh now that he found himself face to face with Sibyl. "And mother is perfect, too," she said, turning and facing him. Then he did laugh; he laughed aloud. "Oh, no," he said. "So you don't wonder that I hate you," continued Sibyl, taking no notice of that last remark. "It's 'cos you like to tell lies about good people. My father is perfect, and you called him unscroopolus. No wonder I hate you." "Listen now, little girl." Lord Grayleigh took the hot, trembling hand, and drew the child to his side. "Don't shrink away, don't turn from me," he said; "I am not so bad as you make me out. If I did make use of such an expression, I have forgotten it. Men of the world say lots of things that little girls don't understand. Little girls of eight years old, if they are to grow up nice and good, and self-respecting, must take the world on trust. So you must take me on trust, and believe that even if I did say what you accuse me of saying, I still have a great respect for your father. I think him a right down _good_ fellow." "The best in all the world?" queried Sibyl. "I am sure at least of one thing, that no little girl ever had a fonder father." "And you own up you told a lie? You do own up that father's quite perfect?" "Men like myself don't care to own themselves in the wrong," said Lord Grayleigh, "and the fact is--listen, you queer little mortal--I don't like perfect people. It is true that I have never met any." "You have met my father and my mother."