“Do you see little of me? Ah, yes, I remember, you were in Liverpool yesterday shopping, and I found the house all desolate when I came back. You can’t think how dreary it looks when you are away. This suggestion of your father’s gives me so much work in the afternoon----” “Oh, Mr. Arden! a suggestion of papa’s?” “Did you not know--did you think it was by my own inclination that I was at work all day long?” said Arthur. “How much higher an opinion you must have of me than I deserve! Does Mrs. Pimpernel think it is all my doing? No, I am not so good as that. I am going over the family papers on your papa’s suggestion--trying to find out something---- Most likely I shall write a book----” “Oh, Mr. Arden!” cried Alice Pimpernel. “Yes; most likely I shall write a book. You can’t think how many interesting stories there are in the family. Should you like me to tell you one this morning before the children are ready for their croquet? I don’t know if I can do it well, but if you like----” “Oh, Mr. Arden, I should like it so much!” “Then, come out on the lawn,” said Arthur. “I know a spot where it will be delicious this warm morning to lie on the grass and tell you about our Spanish lady. Did you ever hear of our Spanish lady? It was she who gave us our olive complexions and our black hair.” “Oh, Mr. Arden!” Alice cried, dazzled by the prospect; “only wait, please, till I fetch my work;” and she hurried away into the drawing-room, leaving him to finish his breakfast. Alice ran across her mother in the hall, as she crossed from one room to the other. Her pretty complexion was heightened, and her eyes shining with pleasure and interest. “Oh, mamma! I am going out to the lawn to hear Mr. Arden tell a story,” she cried, “about the Spanish lady--a family story; and, oh! he says he does not go away for his own pleasure, but because of something papa put into his head. Fancy--papa!” “That is all very well,” said Mrs. Pimpernel. “Your papa, indeed!--but I happen to know better. Your papa only told him, if he could find a flaw in the title---- Your papa is a great deal too liberal, Alice--offering to help people that have not a penny to bless themselves with--as if it could ever be anything to us!--or, as if there was such a thing as gratitude in the world.” “Oh, mamma--hush!” whispered Alice, pointing to the open door of the dining-room, through which Arthur heard every word that was said; and then she added, plaintively, with ready tears gathering in her eyes, “Mayn’t I go?”