“I beg your pardon, Miss Freer, but I am so horribly tired. I have been on duty all this time, and if had stayed longer, I should infallibly have said something rude to somebody, so I ran away to avoid getting into a scrape.” “You’re like the Beast, Uncle Ralph,” said Lotty, oracularly. “Like a beast!” he exclaimed. “I hope not, Lotty. What on earth do you mean?” “I said the Beast. We have been talking about Beauty and the Beast, and I thought when you came growling so, you were just like him.” “Thank you, Lotty,” he said; “or, rather, I think I should thank Miss Freer for the compliment, should I not? That’s what Miss Freer teaches you, eh, Sybil? To call your poor old uncle a beast.” Marion laughed, but Sybil looked distressed. “Oh no, dear Uncle,” she said, “Miss Freer didn’t ever say you were a beast. Lotty only said it because you growled. But, besides, Uncle Ralph, didn’t you know that the Beast was very nice, really he was, a beautiful prince at the end.” “Really, was he? And how did he come to be so improved?” asked Ralph, with an air of the profoundest interest. “Oh, because Beauty—” began Sybil. “But who was Beauty, in the first place?” interrupted heir uncle. “Beauty was a pretty, sweet young lady,” replied Sybil. “Oh, indeed. Like you or Lotty, perhaps?” he suggested. “No, oh no. Not a little girl. A young lady, Uncle. A big young lady, like——like——oh, yes! Just like Miss Freer. A pretty, sweet young lady, just like Miss Freer.” “And she turned the Beast into a beautiful prince, you say? I wonder how ever she could do that,” he said, thoughtfully. “Can’t you guess? Well, I will tell you,” said Sybil, full of importance. “You see, the Beast was very good and kind, though he was ugly. And the fairy fixed that whenever any pretty young lady would love him for being good and kind, and not mind his being ugly, then that minute he was to turn into a beautiful prince. So the very minute Beauty said, ‘I do love you, my dear good Beast,’ he turned into the prince. Isn’t it a pretty story, Uncle, and don’t you think Beauty must have been just like Miss Freer?” “A very pretty story, indeed, Sybil,” replied he, to the first question; but to the second he made no answer. As he lay on the ground, however, he managed to glance up slyly to see how the “big young lady” took all these rather personal remarks. But he did not get much satisfaction. Marion’s face was rather graver than usual, but for all other change in its expression, her thoughts might have been far away, too far away to have paid any heed to the child’s chattering. What was she really thinking? The old puzzle: “I wonder how Sir Ralph and Miss Vyse get on together!” And why from the first have I disliked the one and liked the other?” Ralph seemed suddenly to grow restless. He sat up and looked at his watch, and then said it was time for them to return to their party. So they all left their pleasant nook, considerably to their regret.