"It is not my own, my lady." "Not your own? I should have thought that no one but you and Anderssen could have made such an ending to it." Grace gave her one of those beseeching, half-reproachful looks, with which she always answered praise; and then,--"Would you like to hear the children repeat a hymn, my lady?" "No. I want to know where that story came from." Grace blushed, and stammered. "I know where," said Campbell. "You need not be ashamed of having read the book, Miss Harvey. I doubt not that you took all the good from it, and none of the harm, if harm there be." Grace looked at him; at once surprised and relieved. "It was a foolish romance-book, sir, as you seem to know. It was the only one which I ever read, except Hans Anderssen's,--which are not romances, after all. But the beginning was so full of God's truth, sir, --romance though it was,--and gave me such precious new light about educating children, that I was led on unawares. I hope I was not wrong." "This schoolroom proves that you were not," said Campbell. "'To the pure, all things are pure.'" "What is this mysterious book? I must know!" said Valencia. "A very noble romance, which I made Mellot read once, containing the ideal education of an English nobleman, in the middle of the last century." "The Fool of Quality?" said Mellot. "Of course! I thought I had heard the story before. What a well-written book it is, too, in spite of all extravagance and prolixity. And how wonderfully ahead of his generation the man who wrote it, in politics as well as in religion!" "I must read it," said Valencia. "You must lend it me, Saint Père." "Not yet, I think." "Why?" whispered she, pouting. "I suppose I am not as pure as Grace Harvey?" "She has the children to educate, who are in daily contact with coarse sins, of which you know nothing--of which she cannot help knowing. It was written in an age when the morals of our class (more shame to us) were on the same level with the morals of her class now. Let it alone. I often have fancied I should edit a corrected edition of it. When I do, you shall read that." "Now, Miss Harvey," said Mellot, who had never taken his eyes off her face, "I want to turn schoolmaster, and give your children a drawing lesson. Get your slates, all of you!" And taking possession of the black board and a piece of chalk, Claude began sketching them imps and angels, dogs and horses, till the school rang with shrieks of delight. "Now," said he, wiping the board, "I'll draw something, and you shall copy it." And, without taking off his hand, he drew a single line; and a profile head sprang up, as if by magic, under his firm, unerring touch. "Somebody?" "A lady!" "No, 'taint; 'tis schoolmistress!" "You can't copy that; I'll draw you another face." And he sketched a full face on the board. "That's my lady." "No, it's schoolmistress again!" "No it's not!"