"Listen--the position is a very strange one. I seem to forget, as I am talking to you, that I am your governess, and that you and your sisters are my little pupils, but the facts are those: I look upon you, Fanchon, as very much older than your years. You have, in many ways, the mind of a grown-up woman. Of course you are very young, quite unformed, but you will be grown up sooner than most girls; and you have an understanding way, and I think you will follow me now if I try hard to explain myself." "I wish you would begin," said Fanchon then, restlessly, "you do so beat about the bush. You said this morning that you hadn't a penny over, and that we owed you for the gloves; and then, afterwards, you confessed that you had something over--an awful lot over--and that you meant to spend it at Marshlands. You told one lie, anyway." "Yes, I told one lie, anyway," responded Brenda, intense sadness in her tone. "I told one dreadful, wicked lie, and I am very, _very_ sorry--" "Oh, I wonder if you are!" "Yes, I am--I am; that was why I cried that time." "It wasn't--you cried because you were in a funk." "Fanchon, my dear child, your blunt words hurt me exceedingly." "Well, well," said Fanchon, kicking one leg against the wainscoting as she spoke--"do go on, hurry up--won't you? We'll forget about the lie number one, and remember that you have confessed to having the money. We'll even try to believe that you meant to spend it on us at Marshlands. Go on from that point, do." "I will explain things to you," said Brenda. "You know your dear father is very ignorant with regard to dress. His simplicity on these matters is most sweet, but at times it almost provokes a smile. Now, if I had spent three pounds on each of you in the little shops at Rocheford; and if Nina, and Josephine, and you--my dear Fanchon, in your silly way--had lost your heads over the pretty things I had bought, he would have been dreadfully startled and would have accused himself of great extravagance in giving you so much money, and when the next occasion came when my dear little pupils wanted pretty clothes, I should have had nothing like as much to spend on you. So your Brenda was--well--cunning, if you choose to call it so, and determined to outwit dear papa; and quite resolved that her little pupils should be charmingly attired at a place where he was not likely to see them." Fanchon did not speak at all for a minute. After a pause, she said: "And _that_ was your reason for keeping back the money?" "Certainly--just to deceive your poor papa; for _his_ good, dear--for his good, and for yours." "You're awfully clever, Brenda," was Fanchon's next remark. Brenda coloured. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "Because--because--I know it. You made up that story to-day when you were by yourself, and it's wonderfully clever--it really is. I suppose you think that we girls believe you."