"Mrs. Colville's sister" had been half afraid she was going to be made the confidante of some boyish escapade which the child had concealed from his father; but Humphrey's open face disarmed suspicion, and she listened attentively while he poured forth his tale. It was necessary to listen attentively, for, in the first place, Humphrey was in such a hurry to get to his point, that he rather slurred over the necessary explanations; and, in the second place, he insisted on whispering it all in her ear, on account of the presence of the children. He had just finished his story, and she was making solemn protestations of the strictest secrecy, when Mrs. Colville came back. "You must not tell even _her_ you know," concluded Humphrey; and, with a sigh of relief, he sat down again. Mrs. Colville was one of those mothers who are always fancying other children are better dressed than their own. She was a great copyist, and an unscrupulous borrower of patterns. Virginie held her in abhorrence. She had once asked for the pattern of Miles's blouse, and Virginie had never forgotten or forgiven Sir Everard's ready acquiescence. Mrs. Colville and her family came to the same church as the Duncombes, and it was almost more than Virginie could stand to see other children dressed like her young gentlemen. Mrs. Colville--blinded, a little, like most mothers--did not see that what suited Humphrey and Miles, both exceedingly pretty children, did not have quite the same effect on her nice, but decidedly plain, little boys, and went steadily on. Whatever appeared on Humphrey's graceful figure one Sunday, was sure to be reproduced on some fat little Colville the next. Men do not notice these things. Sir Everard was quite unaware of what went on, but, to Virginie, it was a constant source of annoyance. "_That's_ a pretty suit," said Mrs. Colville examining Humphrey's clothes. "Very," returned her sister; "they fit so well." "Come here, Clement," said Mrs. Colville to a little boy in the distance; "there, don't you see, Mary, how differently his things set?" Mary saw well enough, and saw too that it was figure and not clothes that made such a difference between the two boys, but she did not like to wound her sister's maternal vanity by saying so. "Does your French bonne make your clothes, dear?" Mrs. Colville inquired of Humphrey. "Not mine," he answered--"only Miles's. Mine," he added with great pride, "come from a London tailor's." "Do you happen to remember his name?" "Swears and Wells," answered Humphrey; "I went there once to see 'Gulliver.' I advise you to go and see him when you are in London. You can't think how jolly he is!" "I suppose, of course, you don't remember the direction?" Of course Humphrey didn't. "Stop a bit," he said, all of a sudden. "I've seen the direction written somewhere quite lately. Where _could_ I have seen it? Why, since I've been in this room I've read it." "Impossible, my dear child," said Mrs. Colville, laughing.