After some conversation about his double teeth, the weather, and Nice, she said-- “Suppose you and he just go round the garden, ma’am, and make friends. I’ll leave you to yourselves, whilst I go and see after the dinner.” “But pray don’t get anything extra for _me_, Mrs. Holt,” implored Madeline. “Just what you have yourselves. I shall be very angry if you make a stranger of me.” Mrs. Holt muttered some incoherent reply, and went away saying to herself-- “Not make a stranger of you! and what else? Not make any difference for you! I’m thinking you’d look very glum if I were to set you down to beans and bacon, my grand young London madame. Dear me, but she _is_ changed! She cannot stir without a sound of rustling; and the price of one of her rings would build a new barn!” Meanwhile, Harry and his mother went round the garden as desired, hand-in-hand. He could talk very plainly for his age, and trotted along by her side, considerably thawed in manner. This process was due to a lovely ball she had unexpectedly produced, a gay picture-book, and a packet of candy. He chattered away in a most friendly style, and showed her the pigeons, the bees, and where the lark was buried--in fact, all what he considered the lions of the place; and every moment unfolded to his delighted companion some additional marvel and charm. By the time that one-o’clock dinner was ready, the couple were on excellent terms, and he had even gone so far as to kiss her, and to put his little holland-clad arms round her neck of his own accord. The sensation was extremely pleasant. After dinner--_not_ consisting of beans and bacon--Mrs. Holt and her guest had a long _tête-à-tête_. The condition of Harry’s health was first disposed of, then the state of his wardrobe came under discussion. “I should tell you, ma’am, since you ask, that all the lovely frocks and pelisses you sent from France are just laying there. Mr. Wynne won’t allow him to wear one of them, nor anything you gave him.” “And why not, pray?” demanded the young lady with considerably heightened colour. “He told me quite serious, one day,” said Mrs. Holt, now speaking with ill-suppressed satisfaction, “that what he had worn and _was_ wearing, as you gave him, he might wear out; but no new things were to be accepted, as you had nothing to do with the child now. So I put them all by, just as they came, in the front room wardrobe, and there they are.” “What does he mean?” asked Madeline, in a sharp key. “I’m sure, ma’am, _you_ know better than I do; he said as he had no objection to your seeing the child, now and then, but that was all. I expect Mr. Wynne can be real stiff and determined,” smoothing out her apron with an air of solemn disapproval, not of him, but of her visitor.