Reassured by her deceiving calm, he thought himself clever to seize the moment when truth might be quite truthfully conveyed. “That depends upon so many circumstances,” he explained. “It is impossible to be precise, but I should say ... yes, I should certainly say that it may take ... er ... a year, or even more, to bring matters requiring my presence at home to a satisfactory conclusion.” Her pitiful little face had slowly whitened as he spoke, and suddenly he felt her fingers desperately clutching his arm. “A year or more ... oh! what shall I do without--!” The rest was strangled by a will-power fifty years older than herself. But for a second she stood shaking from head to foot, trying vainly to master feelings too complex and difficult for her young soul to understand; and he--well, he remained frozen to his place, not daring to move, to say a word; absolutely terrified for the first time in his brave, straight life. From his high perch Bolingbroke watched the scene, half of his biscuit still held firmly in one sharp claw, his brilliant head inclined to one side critically, cynically--one would have sworn. “What fools these mortals be!” he seemed to say, and doubtless to create a diversion he dropped the remainder of his tidbit upon Basil’s shoulder, and burst into a demoniacal yell, like that of a Comanche Indian on the war-path. The “Gamin” gave a little laugh so queer that it made its hearer ready to cry, and she let go of his arm. “You wicked old witch-bird!” she scolded. “What a fright you gave me!” “He is a bit startling!” Basil assented, endeavoring to get control of his voice. “Yes, he makes one’s head ache,” she corroborated. “But just think of it! Poor papa is still in the dust. Let’s go and sweep the cobwebs off him. He must be covered with them!” She made a swift move toward the flower-gallery’s jessamine-draped doorway, and paused, holding lightly to a drooping branch. “By the way,” she said, over her shoulder, “when do you go?” “When do I--go? In a few days, but ... I’ll certainly come and say farewell before I do,” he lamely replied. “Thanks so much! Yes, I think it will be right to remember us on such an occasion. Papa is so very punctilious about matters of etiquette, you know!” She again gave that queer little laugh that dismayed him, and disappeared into the hall. “Marguerite!” he called, hurriedly. “Next time it will be official, and I will not be alone. Can’t you say _au revoir_ properly now?” He knew he should not have said that as soon as he had done so. Counting her steps mechanically, she came back, and here at last was the doorway within which he stood. Sweet and serene she reached his side. A little color had come back to her face. “Of course I can,” she assented. “_Au revoir_, Cousin Basil! _Au revoir_ and good-luck to you!”