"He was lost," Mary said mournfully, "and so I showed him the way." "Lost," Mr Ffolliot repeated scornfully; "lost in Redmarley!" "No, father, in the wood." "And what was he doing in our woods, pray?" "He had tried to come by a short-cut and got muddled and he fell down, and I couldn't pass by without speaking, could I . . . he might have broken his leg or something." "What were you doing in the woods alone? I have told you repeatedly that I will not have you scouring the country by yourself. You have plenty of brothers, let one of them accompany you." "I wasn't exactly alone," Mary pleaded; "Parker was with me." "Mary," Mr Ffolliot said solemnly, "has it ever occurred to you that you are very nearly eighteen years old?" "Yes, father." "Well, that being the case, don't you think that decorum in your conduct, more dignity and formality in your manner are a concession you owe to your family. You know as well as I do that a young girl in your position does not converse haphazard with any stranger that she happens to find prone in the woods. It's not done, Mary, and what is more, _I_ will not have it. This impertinent young counter-jumper probably was only too ready to seize upon any excuse to address you. You should have given him the information he asked and walked on." "But we were going the same way," Mary objected; "it seemed so snobby to walk on, besides . . ." again that glorious blush, "he didn't speak to me first, I spoke to him." Mr Ffolliot sighed. "Remember," he said solemnly, "that should you see him again you do not know that young man. . . ." Silence on the part of Mary. Deep thought on the brow of Mr Ffolliot. "To-morrow," he said at last, "you may do up your hair." "Oh, father, mayn't I do it up to-night before church. I should love to, do let me." "No, my child, to-morrow is more suitable." Mary did not ask why. None of the children except the Kitten ever questioned any of Mr Ffolliot's decisions . . . to him. "Have you done with me, father?" Mary asked. "I think it must be tea-time." "Yes, Mary, you may go, but remember, nothing of this sort must ever occur again; it has distressed and annoyed me." "I'm sorry, father, I didn't think . . ." "You never do," said Mr Ffolliot, "that is what I complain of." Thus it came about that Mr Ffolliot was himself directly responsible for the friendly smile which greeted Eloquent as Mary passed him in the aisle of Redmarley church that evening. She had not been allowed to put up her hair that evening. She was not a grown-up lady yet. Therefore would she grin at whomsoever she pleased. CHAPTER VII THE KITTEN