"I’m sure I didn’t give a thought to what her father was," said Monica frankly. "I shouldn’t have cared much if he had been a chimney sweep. I’ve taken a great fancy to Olive Franklyn, and she seemed friendly, so we have agreed to be chums." "Well, I hope you have not been rash. I must make enquiries about these Franklyns before I can allow you to become further acquainted." Monica muttered something under her breath, which sounded suspiciously like "What rubbish!" but the look on her grandmother’s stern face warned her to be careful, if she would keep her friend. "I thought Mr. Bertram said the Osmington clergy had daughters at the High School," remarked Mrs. Beauchamp after a pause; "would not one of them have done?" "I think there’s only Amethyst Drury in our form," was the scornful reply, "and I’m sure she’s a little prig. She’s great friends with Olive’s twin sister Elsa, who is just such another as herself, I should think." Her grandmother inferred from that remark that Monica had evidently chosen a kindred spirit, and she dreaded what might be in store, in the way of added unruliness. But she refrained from saying what was in her mind, and went on to enquire about lessons, and so forth. Monica gave a very good description of all she had done, with the exception of the caricature episode, and having somewhat ingratiated herself with her grandmother, by repeating a few words of praise that had been bestowed upon her German exercise, she thought it a good opportunity to ask a favour. "Oh! grandmamma," she said coaxingly, "don’t you think I might go without Barnes? It seems so silly for a great girl like me to be obliged to have a maid to walk with me. The girls say nasty things about it, too," she added ruefully. "I have been considering the matter, Monica," said Mrs. Beauchamp, as she rose from the table, "but I have not decided yet what I shall do." "Can’t I go by myself, grandmother? I’m sure you might trust me." "I am not so sure, Monica," was the cold rejoinder. "I do not approve of young ladies tearing here, there, and everywhere by themselves, though it may be all very well for girls of the middle classes. I shall probably get a small governess cart, and Richards will drive you in and out." A drive with the sedate old coachman who had been years in Mrs. Beauchamp’s service, and who occasionally "spoke his mind to Miss Monica," was scarcely any improvement on walking with Barnes. But, at any rate, there would be no reason for the girls to ridicule her then. So she made no demur. "Now, Monica, go to the schoolroom and do some of your lessons, and be ready at half-past-three to accompany me to The Knoll. Put on your cream serge frock, and make yourself as neat-looking as you possibly can, for Mrs. St. Quintin is very particular."