'Like a native,' I answered, with cheerful promptitude. 'I was at school in Canton Berne; it is a mother tongue to me.' 'No, no,' the old lady went on, fixing her keen small eyes on my mouth. 'Those little lips could never frame themselves to "schlecht" or "wunderschoen"; they were not cut out for it.' 'Pardon me,' I answered, in German. 'What I say, that I mean. The never-to-be-forgotten music of the Fatherland's-speech has on my infant ear from the first-beginning impressed itself.' The old lady laughed aloud. 'Don't jabber it to me, child,' she cried. 'I hate the lingo. It's the one tongue on earth that even a pretty girl's lips fail to render attractive. You yourself make faces over it. What's your name, young woman?' 'Lois Cayley.' 'Lois! _What_ a name! I never heard of any Lois in my life before, except Timothy's grandmother. _You're_ not anybody's grandmother, are you?' 'Not to my knowledge,' I answered, gravely. She burst out laughing again. 'Well, you'll do, I think,' she said, catching my arm. 'That big mill down yonder hasn't ground the originality altogether out of you. I adore originality. It was clever of you to catch at the suggestion of this arrangement. Lois Cayley, you say; any relation of a madcap Captain Cayley whom I used once to know, in the Forty-second Highlanders?' 'His daughter,' I answered, flushing. For I was proud of my father. 'Ha! I remember; he died, poor fellow; he was a good soldier--and his'--I felt she was going to say 'his fool of a widow,' but a glance from me quelled her; 'his widow went and married that good-looking scapegrace, Jack Watts-Morgan. Never marry a man, my dear, with a double-barrelled name and no visible means of subsistence; above all, if he's generally known by a nickname. So you're poor Tom Cayley's daughter, are you? Well, well, we can settle this little matter between us. Mind, I'm a person who always expects to have my own way. If you come with _me_ to Schlangenbad, you must do as I tell you.' 'I _think_ I could manage it--for a week,' I answered, demurely. She smiled at my audacity. We passed on to terms. They were quite satisfactory. She wanted no references. 'Do I look like a woman who cares about a reference? What are called _characters_ are usually essays in how not to say it. You take my fancy; that's the point! And poor Tom Cayley! But, mind, I will _not_ be contradicted.' 'I will not contradict your wildest misstatement,' I answered, smiling. '_And_ your name and address?' I asked, after we had settled preliminaries. A faint red spot rose quaintly in the centre of the Cantankerous Old Lady's sallow cheek. 'My dear,' she murmured, 'my name is the one thing on earth I'm really ashamed of. My parents chose to inflict upon me the most odious label that human ingenuity ever devised for a Christian soul; and I've not had courage enough to burst out and change it.'