“Is that so?” she asked a little curiously. “Well, it makes a difference, of course. But it would have been more becoming of her to be painted by a woman. There is the respectable Madame Kauffmann, for instance, who, I am told, depicts religion and the virtues. But there, dear, we will say no more about it; only pray to the good Father, now the naughty little episode’s over, that we may be accepted meekly into His fold.” I heard no more from Wellcot after this for a couple of days, and was beginning already to torment myself with qualms of jealousy of my sweet little vicegerent there, being at the last almost driven to break out and precipitate matters, when I was saved by a call from the darling herself. Our meeting, to which the Mother’s presence gave a conventual sanction, though fond and cordial, would have been barren of result had not my friend, with a finesse which delighted me, and the more because I had thought her incapable of it, rid us of our incumbrance. “Good lud!” said she, after the first embrace, twinkling through her tears, “if I haven’t left my little basket of cream cheeses for the Sisters melting outside in the sun!” The bait took instant. The Mother, with a little gentle reproof for her carelessness, waddled out with such a benevolent glare as though she had heard the last trump. “Wait, dears, and I’ll be with you again!” said she. The moment she was gone, Patty threw herself upon me. “I hid it under some bushes,” she said, “just to keep her hunting, and where it wouldn’t melt really.” Her second reason was characteristic enough. She could never offer the tiniest hurt from one hand without its remedy from the other. I foresaw she’d whip her children by and by with a strap of healing-plaister, the poor little weak creature. “O, you _naughty_ little thing!” I giggled; but was serious the next moment, questioning and urging her. “Quick!” I said. “What’s he going to do? Have you a letter?” She shook her head. “He’ll have a postchaise outside in a night or two, and will let you know; but for the moment he’s watched, and daren’t move, or commit himself to paper.” “The hero! He’s still there, then, at Wellcot? If it had been me, I’d have had my servants flog him out of the house.” “O, Diana! How can you say such a thing, and you in love with him!” “Whom I love I chasten. I’m in love, like Mrs. Sophia, with myself through him. He’s going to make me great. Now, tell me what’s the state of things there.” She shook her head rather piteously. “I don’t know. It’s all very sad and lonely without you. I think she wants to forgive him; but he’s proud and angry, and holds aloof.” I turned up my nose with a sniff. “It’s nicer to be a healthy sinner. Her fulsomeness makes me sick. And how did you get leave to come and see me?”