"My name is Ethel Maria-Theresa Neumann-Schultz," said Priscilla, very clearly and slowly; and though she was, as we know, absolutely impervious to the steadiest staring, she did wonder whether this good lady could have seen her photograph anywhere in some paper, her stare was so very round and bright and piercing. "What a long name," said Mrs. Morrison. "Yes," said Priscilla; and as another silence seemed imminent she added, "I have two hyphens." "Two what?" said Mrs. Morrison, startled; and so full was her head of doubt and distrust that for one dreadful moment she thought the girl had said two husbands. "Oh, hyphens. Yes. Germans have them a good deal, I believe." "That sounds as if we were talking about diseases," said Priscilla, a faint smile dawning far away somewhere in the depths of her eyes. "Yes," said Mrs. Morrison, fidgeting. Odd that Robin should have said nothing about the girl's face. Anyhow she should be kept off Netta. Better keep her off the parish-room Tuesdays as well. What in the world was she doing in Symford? She was quite the sort of girl to turn the heads of silly boys. And so unfortunate, just as Augustus Shuttleworth had taken to giving Netta little volumes of Browning. "Is your uncle out?" she asked, some of the sharpness of her thoughts getting into her voice. "He's gone to Minehead, to see about things for my cottage." "Your cottage? Have you got Mrs. Shaw's, then?" "Yes. She is being moved out to-day." "Dear me," said Mrs. Morrison, greatly struck. "Is it surprising?" "Most. So unlike Lady Shuttleworth." "She has been very kind." "Do you know her?" "No; but my uncle was there this morning." "And managed to persuade her?" "He is very eloquent," said Priscilla, with a demure downward sweep of her eyelashes. "Just a little more," thought Mrs. Morrison, watching their dusky golden curve, "and the girl would have had scarlet hair and white-eyebrows and masses of freckles and been frightful." And she sighed an impatient sigh, which, if translated into verse, would undoubtedly have come out-- "Oh the little more and how much it is, And the little less and what worlds away!" "And poor old Mrs. Shaw--how does she like being turned out?" "I believe she is being put into something that will seem to her a palace." "Dear me, your uncle must really be very eloquent." "I assure you that he is," said Priscilla earnestly. There was a short pause, during which Mrs. Morrison staring straight into those unfathomable pools, Priscilla's eyes, was very angry with them for being so evidently lovely. "You are very young," she said, "so you will not mind my questions--" "Don't the young mind questions?" asked Priscilla, for a moment supposing it to be a characteristic of the young of England. "Not, surely, from experienced and--and married ladies," said Mrs. Morrison tartly. "Please go on then."