"Of course he was," said Boodles. "Old daddy couldn't tell a lie however much he wanted to. It would hurt him so badly he would groan and grunt for a week. What else did he tell your father?" "He didn't say. But, darling, you'll find out." "Oh, Aubrey," she said pathetically. "Do you care?" "Lovely little thing, of course I don't. Your parents must have been the best and nicest people that ever lived, or you wouldn't have been so sweet. But you see, darling, my people worry no end about name and family and all that sort of rubbish, and if they think any one is not what they call well-born they kick up no end of a smother." "Well-born," murmured Boodles. She was beginning to comprehend at last, to recognise the existence of that grim thing called convention, and to feel a sort of misty shadow creeping up the wood. She felt something on one of her fingers, and it seemed to her that the pretty ring, which she loved so much, was trying to work itself off. "Well-born," the child murmured to herself. "Whatever does it mean?" This was what being eighteen meant. Boodles was learning things. "I must have had a father and mother," she said, though in a somewhat dubious manner. Aubrey only hummed something unintelligible, and wished the cloud out of her eyes. "Now I must find out all about them?" "I expect my people would like to know, dear," he said. "If I can't find out, Aubrey?" she went on, in a moist kind of way. "Then you will have to take mine," he said as lightly as he could. Boodles stopped, turned away, began to play with a golden frond of bracken almost as bright as her hair, and began to cry as gently as an April shower. She had been on the point of it all the afternoon; and she persuaded herself it was all because Aubrey was going away, although she knew that wasn't true. It was because she was finding out things. "Don't," she sobbed. "It's doing me good," However, Aubrey took her in his arms and tried to pet her, and that did her as much good as anything, although she went on crying. "Can't give me yours--you silly! They won't be given. They don't want me to love you, they hate me, and your mother kissed me--she did--on my mouth." "Mother is very fond of you, darling. She is really," Aubrey whispered as quickly as he could. "She said you were perfect, and father agreed with her, and said you would be all that a girl could be, if--if--" "Go on," murmured Boodles. "It won't hurt. I've got hold of you. I'm taking all the starch out of your collar." "Never mind what he said." "We don't say good-bye until you have told me. I'll hang on to you. Stop you, perhaps. Oh, Aubrey, you are going away--that's why I'm crying. Your father said I should be a nice little girl, if--go on." "If you had a name," said Aubrey, with an effort. Boodles let him go and stepped back. She looked rather nice, with her eyes in the rain, and her head in the sunshine. "What does that mean, Aubrey?" she said, almost fiercely.