“Ah, that is when I am coming here,” said Mary, with a momentary compunction. Then perceiving a pleased glow diffuse itself over Vi’s face, she added, quickly, “I mean, he likes to go with me when it pleases himself; but if I were to ask any little sacrifice of his will from him, you should see how he would look. He is one of the most self-willed boys I know.” Violet did not make any answer. She patted her foot upon the carpet, and the corners of her little mouth were drawn down. She would have frowned had she known how; as it was, she averted her face in wrath and dismay. “Violet, my dear, I take a great interest in you,” said Mary. “When I look at you, I sometimes think I see myself at your age. I don’t like to think that you may grow up to make a demigod of Val--or indeed of any other.” “Miss Percival!--I! Oh, how dare you?--how can you say so?” cried Violet, springing to her feet, her face crimson, her eyes shining. “I! make a--anything of Val. Oh, how can you be so unkind, you grown-up people? Must a girl never speak to a boy unless he is her brother? And Val has been just like my brother. I think of him--as I think of Sandy.” “Oh, you little story-teller!” cried Mary, laughing in spite of herself, as Violet’s indignant voice faltered into uncertainty; “but, Vi, I am not going to scold--don’t be afraid. I am going to tell you for your good what happened to me. I don’t like doing it,” she said, with a blush that almost neutralised the difference of age between herself and the girl who listened to her; “but I think it may be for your good, dear. Violet, when I was your age there was some one--whom I was constantly in the habit of seeing, as you might be of seeing Val. There was never any--flirtation or nonsense between us. How shall I say it, Violet?--for I don’t care to speak of such things any more than you would. I liked him, as I thought, as you do, like a brother; and he was always kept before me--never any one but Richard. After a while he went out into the world, and there did--something which separated us for ever! oh, not anything wrong, Vi--not a crime, or even vice--but something which showed me that I, and all I was, such as I was, was nothing in the world to him--that nothing was of value to him but his own caprice. I never got over it, Violet. You see me now growing old, unmarried; and of course I never shall marry now, nor have young ones round me like your mother----” “Oh, dear Miss Percival,” cried Violet, with tears in her eyes, “who cares for being married? What has that to do with it? Is it not far finer, far grander, to live like you, for ever constant to your first love? Is not that the best of all?” cried the little enthusiast, flushing with visionary passion. Mary caught her by her pretty shoulders, shook her and kissed her, and laughed, and let one or two tears drop, a tribute, half to her own, half to the child’s excitement.