"You are a member of the Church of England?" inquired the vicar, seeing her hesitate.
"Why, pater, she's not English," burst out Robin.
"Not English?" echoed the vicar.
"Is my English so bad?" asked Priscilla, smiling.
"It's frightfully good," said Robin; "but the 'r's,' you know—"
"Ah, yes. No, I'm not English. I'm German."
"Indeed?" said the vicar, with all the interest that attaches to any unusual phenomenon, and a German in Symford was of all phenomena the most unusual. "My dear young lady, how remarkable. I don't remember ever having met a German before in these parts. Your English is really surprising. I should never have noticed—my boy's ears are quicker than my old ones. Will you think me unpardonably curious if I ask what made you pitch on Symford as a place to live in?"
"My uncle passed through it years ago and thought it so pretty that he determined to spend his old age here."
"And you, I suppose, are going to take care of him."
"Yes," said Priscilla, "for we only"—she looked from one to the other and thought herself extremely clever—"we only have each other in the whole wide world."