“It’s too dreadful,” cried Mrs. Grose, “to say such cruel things! Why, he’s scarce ten years old.” “Yes, yes; it would be incredible.” She was evidently grateful for such a profession. “See him, Miss, first. _Then_ believe it!” I felt forthwith a new impatience to see him; it was the beginning of a curiosity that, for all the next hours, was to deepen almost to pain. Mrs. Grose was aware, I could judge, of what she had produced in me, and she followed it up with assurance. “You might as well believe it of the little lady. Bless her,” she added the next moment--“_look_ at her!” I turned and saw that Flora, whom, ten minutes before, I had established in the schoolroom with a sheet of white paper, a pencil, and a copy of nice “round O’s,” now presented herself to view at the open door. She expressed in her little way an extraordinary detachment from disagreeable duties, looking to me, however, with a great childish light that seemed to offer it as a mere result of the affection she had conceived for my person, which had rendered necessary that she should follow me. I needed nothing more than this to feel the full force of Mrs. Grose’s comparison, and, catching my pupil in my arms, covered her with kisses in which there was a sob of atonement. None the less, the rest of the day, I watched for further occasion to approach my colleague, especially as, toward evening, I began to fancy she rather sought to avoid me. I overtook her, I remember, on the staircase; we went down together, and at the bottom I detained her, holding her there with a hand on her arm. “I take what you said to me at noon as a declaration that _you’ve_ never known him to be bad.” She threw back her head; she had clearly, by this time, and very honestly, adopted an attitude. “Oh, never known him--I don’t pretend _that_!” I was upset again. “Then you _have_ known him----?” “Yes indeed, Miss, thank God!” On reflection I accepted this. “You mean that a boy who never is----?” “Is no boy for _me_!” I held her tighter. “You like them with the spirit to be naughty?” Then, keeping pace with her answer, “So do I!” I eagerly brought out. “But not to the degree to contaminate----” “To contaminate?”--my big word left her at a loss. I explained it. “To corrupt.” She stared, taking my meaning in; but it produced in her an odd laugh. “Are you afraid he’ll corrupt _you_?” She put the question with such a fine bold humour that, with a laugh, a little silly doubtless, to match her own, I gave way for the time to the apprehension of ridicule. But the next day, as the hour for my drive approached, I cropped up in another place. “What was the lady who was here before?” “The last governess? She was also young and pretty--almost as young and almost as pretty, Miss, even as you.” “Ah, then, I hope her youth and her beauty helped her!” I recollect throwing off. “He seems to like us young and pretty!”