"Then, of all blind idiots, Cyril's the worst!—if he did take the cheque," uttered Herbert. "Should it become known, he is done for; and that for life. And my father helping to fan the flame!"
The governess shrugged her shoulders. "I not like Cyril," she said. "I have never liked him since I came."
"But you will not tell against him!" cried Herbert, in fear.
"No, no, no. Tell against your brother! Why should I? It is no concern of mine. Unless people meddle with me, I not meddle with them. Cyril is safe, for me."
"What on earth am I to do for my cloak to-night?" debated Herbert. "I was going—going where I want it."
"Why you want it so to-night?" asked mademoiselle sharply.
"Because it's cold," responded Herbert. "The cloak was warmer than my overcoat is."
"Last night you go out, to-night you go out, to-morrow you go out. It is always so now!"
"I have a lot of perplexing business upon me," answered Herbert. "I have no time to see about it in the day."
Some little time longer he remained talking with her, partially disputing. The Italian, from some cause or other, went into ill-humour and said some provoking things. Herbert, it must be confessed, received them with good temper, and she grew more affable. When he left her, she offered to pick the loose threads out of the cloak, and hem up the bottom.