"I know the very thing," said the Aunt, and went on to tell of Madame Gautier, of her cloistral home in Paris where she received a few favoured young girls, of the vigilant maid who conducted them to and from their studies, of the quiet villa on the Marne where in the summer an able master--at least 60 or 65 years of age--conducted sketching parties, to which the students were accompanied either by Madame herself, or by the dragon-maid. "I'll stand the child six months with her," she said, "or a year even. So it won't cost you anything. And Madame Gautier is in London now. You could run up and talk to her yourself." "Does she speak English?" he asked, anxiously, and being reassured questioned further. "And you?" he asked. And when he heard that Norway for a month and then America en route for Japan formed Miss Desmond's programme for the next year he was only just able to mask, with a cough, his deep sigh of relief. For, however much he might respect her judgment, he was always easier when Lizzie and her Aunt Julia were not together. He went up to town, and found Madame Gautier, the widow of a French pastor, established in a Bloomsbury boarding-house. She was a woman after his own heart--severe, simple, earnest. If he had to part with his Lizzie, he told himself in the returning train, it could be to no better keeper than this. He himself announced his decision to Betty. "I have decided," he said, and he spoke very coldly because it was so very difficult to speak at all, "to grant you the wish you expressed some time ago. You shall go to Paris and learn drawing." "Do you really mean it?" said Betty, as coldly as he. "I am not in the habit of saying things which I do not mean." "Thank you very much," said Betty. "I will work hard, and try that the money shan't be wasted." "Your aunt has kindly offered to pay your expenses." "When do I go?" asked Betty. "As soon as your garments can be prepared. I trust that I shall not have cause to regret the confidence I have decided to place in you." His phrasing was seldom well-inspired. Had he said, "I trust you, my child, and I know I shan't regret it," which was what he meant, she would have come to meet him more than half-way. As it was she said, "Thank you!" again, and left him without more words. He sighed. "I don't believe she is pleased after all; but she sees I am doing it for her good. Now it comes to the point her heart sinks at the idea of leaving home. But she will understand my motives." The one thought Betty gave him was: "He can't bear the sight of me at all now! He's longing to be rid of me! Well, thank Heaven I'm going to Paris! I will have a grass-lawn dress over green, with three rows of narrow lace insertion, and a hat with yellow roses and--oh, it can't be true. It's too good to be true. Well, it's a good thing to be hated sometimes, by some people, if they only hate you enough!" * * * * *