“Can you speak French?” “Oui, Mademoiselle, je parle Français un peu.” “Say some more,” Laura demanded. Maida smiled. “Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix, onze, douze—” Laura looked impressed. “Do you speak any other language?” “Italian and German—a very little.” Laura stared hard at her and her look was full of question. But it was evident that she decided to believe Maida. “I live in Primrose Court,” she said, and now there was not a shadow of condescension left in her voice. “That large house at the back with the big lawn about it. I’d like to have you come and play with me some afternoon. I’m very busy most of the time, though. I take music and fancy dancing and elocution. Next winter, I’m going to take up French. I’ll send you word some afternoon when I have time to play.” “Thank you,” Maida said in her most civil voice. “Come and play with me sometime,” she added after a pause. “Oh, my mother doesn’t let me play in other children’s houses,” Laura said airily. “Good-bye.” “Good-bye,” Maida answered. She waited until Laura had disappeared into the court. “Granny,” she called impetuously, “a little girl’s been here who I think is the hatefullest, horridest, disagreeablest thing I ever saw in my life.” “Why, what did the choild do?” Granny asked in surprise. “Do?” Maida repeated. “She did everything. Why, she—she—” She interrupted herself to think hard a moment. “Well, it’s the queerest thing. I can’t tell you a thing she did, Granny, and yet, all the time she was here I wanted to slap her.” “There’s manny folks that-a-way,” said Granny. “The woisest way is to take no notuce av ut.” “Take no notice of it!” Maida stormed. “It’s just like not taking any notice of a bee when it’s stinging you.” Maida was so angry that she walked into the living-room without limping. At four that afternoon, when the children came out of school, there was another flurry of trade. Towards five, it slackened. Maida sat in her swivel-chair and wistfully watched the scene in the court. Little boys were playing top. Little girls were jumping rope. Once she saw a little girl in a scarlet cape come out of one of the yards. On one shoulder perched a fluffy kitten. Following her, gamboled an Irish setter and a Skye terrier. Presently it grew dark and the children began to go indoors. Maida lighted the gas and lost herself in “Gulliver’s Travels.” The sound of voices attracted her attention after awhile. She turned in her chair. Outside, staring into the window, stood a little boy and girl—a ragged, dirty pair. Their noses pressed so hard against the glass that they were flattened into round white circles. They took no notice of Maida. Dropping her eyes to her book, she pretended to read. “I boneys that red top, first,” said the little boy in a piping voice. He was a round, brown, pop-eyed, big-mouthed little creature. Maida could not decide which he looked most like—a frog or a brownie. She christened him “the Bogle” at once.