Josephine glanced at her in astonishment.
"I did mean it," she declared; "it was true."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then the door opened to admit Mr. Basset.
"Josephine," he said, "I promised to show you my moths; would you like to see them this evening?"
"Oh, please!" Josephine cried, putting down her work and springing to her feet.
She followed her uncle downstairs to his study, where he placed her in a chair before the cabinet, the shallow drawers of which held every species of English moth. It was a wonderful collection, the result of much patience and labour, for Mr. Basset had found each specimen himself.
"I never guessed that there were so many different sorts of butterflies," Josephine said, as she bent over the last drawer, "and, oh, how beautiful most of them are! Look at those tiny ones! What a lovely colour!—the palest lilac!"
"They are not uncommon in this district," Mr. Basset answered; "you may see them on any fine summer's day on Kilber Down, hovering around flowers which are so like them in size and colour that you have to look closely to distinguish between butterflies and flowers."
"How wonderful!—wonderful that they should be so like the flowers, I mean."
"A wise provision of Nature for their protection," smiled Mr. Basset. Then, as Josephine was silent, he asked: "Of what are you thinking?"