He held out his hand and gave me the tips of his fingers. Then he shook hands with Miss Donnithorne, and Miss Donnithorne presented Hermione to him. I observed that Miss Donnithorne's cheeks were brighter than their wont. She began to speak in a very apologetic way, but father cut her short. "It doesn't matter," he said; "pray don't apologise." They both went into the house, and it seemed to me that they forgot all about Hermione and me as completely as though we did not exist. "How queer!" I could not help saying. "Queer?" said Hermione. "It isn't a bit queer; it's what we ought to expect." "I don't know what you mean," I said. She looked at me. I observed then that her soft brown eyes could be quizzical at times. The lids became slightly narrow, and a smile, not the sweetest, trembled on her lips; then it vanished. "Have you seen Miss Donnithorne's garden?" she asked. "Yes," I replied; "and I am cold; I want to go into the house. Let us go in, Hermione. I want, now father is with us, to be as much with him as I can." "Oh, you little goose!" said Hermione. "For goodness' sake leave them alone. Come upstairs and show me your room." "Why should I leave them alone?" I said. "You are a baby!" said Hermione. She spoke almost crossly. I certainly absolutely failed to understand her. I said after a minute, "I suppose that I understand father better than you do, and better than Miss Donnithorne does." "Better than Miss Donnithorne understands him?" cried Hermione. "Oh Dumps! I must call you Dumps, for you are quite delicious. Never, never since I was born did I meet a little girl quite so much the colour of--the colour of--" "The colour of what?" I said. She had her umbrella in her hand. It was very neatly folded. I really don't know why she brought it, as we had driven in a covered carriage; but now she poked and poked in the snow with it until she came to the grass beneath. "The colour of that," she said. I am sure I turned scarlet; and I can assure you, readers, that I was not at all pretty when I turned that colour, for my complexion was somewhat muddy, and I had none of those delicate pinks and whites in my skin which make people think you so absolutely charming. "I don't understand you," I said. "I think you are very rude." She laughed and patted me on the arm. "You are a very nice girl," she said. "I know that; but you will forgive me. I perceive that Miss Grace Donnithorne is right and you know nothing of the world." "I don't know anything whatever of the world you live in," I answered. "I know nothing whatever of the world which suddenly declares that a person whom I scarcely know at all knows more of the heart of the one person whom I have been brought up with all my life than I do myself. I positively declare that Miss Grace Donnithorne does not know as much about father as I do."