Fräulein Hirsch was quite ready with detail concerning her former patroness and her daughter. She obviously admired them very much. Her manner held a touch of respectful reverence. She described Hélène’s disposition and delicate nerves and the perfection of the nuns’ treatment of her. She described the beauty of the interior of the house, its luxury and convenience, and the charms of the suite of apartments prepared for Hélène. She thought the number of the house was No. 97 A. Lady Etynge was the kindest employer she had ever had. She believed that Miss Gareth-Lawless and Hélène would be delighted with each other, if they met, and her impression was that Lady Etynge privately hoped they would become friends. Her mild, flat face was so modestly amiable that Mademoiselle Vallé, who always felt her unattractive femininity pathetic, was a little moved by her evident pleasure in having been the humble means of providing Robin with acquaintances of an advantageous kind. No special day had been fixed upon for the visit and the cup of tea. Robin was eager in secret and hoped Lady Etynge would not forget to remind them of her invitation. She did not forget. One afternoon—they had not seen her for several days and had not really expected to meet her, because they took their walk later than usual—they found her just rising from her seat to go home as they appeared. “Our little encounters almost assume the air of appointments,” she said. “This is very nice, but I am just going away, I am sorry to say. I wonder—” she paused a moment, and then looked at Fräulein Hirsch pleasantly; “I wonder if, in about an hour, you would bring Miss Gareth-Lawless to me to have tea and tell me if she thinks Hélène will like her new rooms. You said you would like to see them,” brightly to Robin. “You are very kind. I should like it so much,” was Robin’s answer. Fräulein Hirsch was correctly appreciative of the condescension shown to her. Her manner was the perfection of the exact shade of unobtrusive chaperonship. There was no improper suggestion of a mistaken idea that she was herself a guest, or, indeed, anything, in fact, but a proper appendage to her charge. Robin had never been fond of Fräulein as she was fond of Mademoiselle and Dowie, still she was not only an efficient teacher, but also a good walker and very fond of long tramps, which Mademoiselle was really not strong enough for, but which Robin’s slender young legs rejoiced in. The two never took cabs or buses, but always walked everywhere. They walked on this occasion, and, about an hour later, arrived at a large, corner house in Berford Place. A tall and magnificently built footman opened the door for them, and they were handed into a drawing room much grander than the one Robin sometimes glanced into as she passed it, when she was at home. A quite beautiful tea equipage awaited them on a small table, but Lady Etynge was not in the room.