"Ah, then you _must_ get it right. For what would happen, Alicia, if you were to face the world ignorant of how Cæsar conquered the Belgians! And if you should go out into life without an intimate knowledge of the equipment of Cæsar’s light-armed infantry, of the habits of the Gauls and the right use of the catapult or the proper employment of the chariot, the consequences might be little short of ignominious! Better come to me and let me set you straight. I know you understand indirect discourse from the way you told me your story to-night. But the subjunctive, my dear—ah, the subjunctive must be closer to you than a brother and nearer than hands and feet!" She laughed a merry, delicious peal of laughter and when she said good night I put my hand upon her soft silken hair and sent from the room a very radiant, happy little girl. But now, as my thought wanders back to Gertrude’s surprising _démarche_, uncontrollable indignation again possesses me. To think that it was she who had instigated the visit of that little inspectress, Miss Smith, weeks ago! It is unbelievable. Underhand methods in Gertrude are new to me. I have called up Gertrude on the telephone. And in spite of the lateness of the hour she insisted in a somewhat wintry voice that I had better come up at once and see her, as she put it, settle it once for all. _Je m’y rend_. To settle it once for all is precisely what I desire. My desire has been stormily satisfied. Though inwardly indignant, I returned to Gertrude with every intention of being very bland and very reasonable, hoping against hope to have the unlovely fact somehow cleared away. But Gertrude, it seems, had decided that the indignation properly belonged to her. "Hello, Ranny," she greeted me easily, in the gray tone that precedes a tempest. "What do you mean by speaking to me as you did over the telephone?" "I—I mean this," I faltered, but that was the last time I faltered in speaking to her. "Did you or did you not report the case of Alicia to the Home and send an inspectress to me?" She watched me with narrowed eyelids for a moment and then, deciding evidently, that a little truculence would reduce me to my normal state of pulp, she answered coolly: "And suppose I did—what of it?" "I merely want to know the truth," I answered her quietly enough. "Lies are so detestable to me." She flinched perceptibly, but drew herself up with hauteur. "Well, then I didn’t!" she returned loftily. "But what if I had? Somebody ought to have reported it," she ran on with gathering temper by which she thought to crush me. "I think it’s indecent for you to have in the house a girl of that age who’s no relation to you. The fact that you are a fool doesn’t make it any less indecent. I’m the only woman friend you have and somebody has to see you don’t make a worse idiot of yourself than nature made you to start with. Now do you understand, my excellent friend?"