“When you first met me,” said Alix, putting the obvious explanation with mild competence before him, “what chiefly engaged your attention was that I spoke English at all. Now you notice that though I speak it so well I speak with my French accent. I am French, Giles.” She slightly smiled round at him, for she need not emphasize it. He as well as she would remember their last talk on the cliff-path. “I am a foreigner.” “I suppose you are,” said Giles, and it was gravely, almost gloomily that he said so. “Was the walking tour a success?” Alix asked him, while they waited at the customs, Alix’s box, this time, being larger than the last and subjected to the vicissitudes of a separate transit. “You did not overtire yourself? You look a little tired, you know.” “Do I really? I haven’t been sleeping very well; it’s been so hot. Cornwall was a great success. I want you to see Cornwall some day.” “It has been hot in Paris, too. But I always love Paris at this season, the stones all baked with sun, the trees all bronze. We have been dining in the Bois almost every night, at a little restaurant under the trees. It has been delicious. And the drive back down the avenue du Bois.—_Calme-toi, mon chéri_,” she addressed the kitten who was wailing. “Poor little chap. He hasn’t liked the journey. Is he prettier?” asked Giles. “He is uglier,” said Alix. “It is _l’âge ingrat_, you know. No longer kitten, and yet not cat. Like me. It is only the basket that troubles him. I had him out for most of the day, in my arms, and he was quiet and good.” “It reassures me to see you still so fond of kittens,” Giles smiled at her. “It makes me feel you are still something of one yourself.” “But I shall always be fond of kittens,” said Alix. They were again to spend the night with Aunt Bella and in the taxi Alix opened the basket and displayed her pet. Very ugly indeed; gaunt in structure, though fully fed, of a most undistinguished white and brindle, with a nose already over-long and ears over-large; but as it nestled into Alix’s neck with loud choking purrs Giles owned that it was a nice little beast. “And so full of love; and so intelligent, Giles,” said Alix, pleased by his commendation. “More loving, more intelligent, these common little cats are, than _chats de race_, I always think.”