"Please, please, Brenda," said Fanchon, on the day before the great fete, "won't you put on your pale blue silk, and let us see you in it? It has come, I know, for I was in the garden when the carrier arrived with that great box from Madame Declasse's. Father was with us, and he asked what could be in the box." "And what did you say, dear?" "I said it was a box full of pots for making jam--that you had bought the pots the day we were at Rocheford, as you thought it would be such a good thing for cook to turn all the gooseberries into jam while we were at the seaside." "What a very clever little Fanchon you are!" said Brenda, looking very attentively at her pupil. "And what did papa say--dear innocent papa?" "Oh, he was ever so pleased--he loves gooseberry jam, and said that we must on no account strip the trees beforehand, so as to leave plenty for cook to boil down to put into the pots." "What a mercy he didn't feel the box!" was Brenda's remark. "I do think, Fanchon, you are very clever--very wicked, of course, and I suppose you ought to be punished. But there--you meant well, didn't you?" "I suppose I did," said Fanchon, raising her pale blue eyes and fixing them on her governess' face. Brenda looked back at the girl. She heartily wished that Fanchon was two years younger and five years stupider, and even a little more ugly; but, such as she was, she must make the best of her. "Of course," continued Fanchon, who seemed to divine her governess' thoughts, "if you really think that I told a wicked story, I can go to father now and tell him that I made a mistake, and that the box contained your blue silk dress, and--and--other things of yours--and not the jam pots. Shall I, Brenda? shall I?" "You goosey! you goosey!" said Brenda. She squeezed Fanchon's arm and began to pace up and down the terrace walk with her pupil by her side. "You know," she said, lowering her voice and speaking in the most confiding and enthralling way, "you are older than the others, and I can confide in you. It is wrong to tell lies--very, very wrong--and whatever possessed you, you silly girl, to think of jam pots? I am sure nothing was further from our heads on that auspicious day. But I don't want your dear father to see the dress that I am going to the fete in, and I will tell you why." "Please do," said Fanchon, "for to tell the truth, Brenda, neither Nina, nor Josephine, nor I understand you always." "Well, dears, is it likely that you should? I am, let me see, between twenty-two and twenty-three years of age, although I don't look it by any means." "I don't know what that age looks like, so can't say," was Fanchon's remark. "Well, dear--it is a very beautiful age, and very young. It is the age when a girl comes--so to speak--to her prime, and when she thinks of-- of,"--Brenda lowered her voice--"getting married." "Oh!" said Fanchon, colouring crimson. "You don't mean to say--"