He laughed. “You must call me Barnabas,” he said.
She nodded her head. “Monsieur Barnabas,” she said slowly. Then she turned to Miss Mason “What sall I call you?” she asked.
A sudden little tender thought sprang into Miss Mason’s mind. She put it aside.
“You can call me,” she said rather gruffly, “Aunt Olive.”
Again the child nodded her head. “Aunt Oleeve and Monsieur Barnabas, c’est bon.” She looked an odd little elfin figure as she stood there watching them.
“I must be off,” said Barnabas. “I’ve no time to lose.”
Pippa came to the door with him.
“Bon voyage,” she cried, waving her hand. And then suddenly she saw the marble faun in the next garden.
“Ah!” she cried. “Quel beau petit garçon!” She darted down one path and up another.
The last thing Barnabas saw, as he looked back before leaving the courtyard, was a poppy-coloured figure standing in the wintry sunshine beside a white marble faun. The child had her arms familiarly round the faun’s neck.