'It is all wonderfully little changed,' she wrote. 'I drive along the same roads, and walk slowly up and down the same terraces, where Lady Jacinth and I used to talk together by the hour in our light-hearted girlhood. I even fancy I recognise some of the shops we pass, for I am able to stroll about the quieter streets a little with the help of my good Clayton's arm. I have actually done a little shopping, the results of which will, I trust, please you, trifling as they are. I am sending off a little box by the Globe Express, which will, I hope, reach you by Christmas Day. And now, dear Eugenia, for the point of my letter. It is Clayton's idea; she burst out with it the other day when we were busy about this same shopping. "Oh, my lady, if only Miss Jacinth—Miss Mildmay I should say—were here it would be nice! She's just the young lady to enjoy the change and not mind the quiet life, and she would brighten you up." So will you spare her to me for the three or four months I shall be here? I hesitate to ask it; you will miss her so. But I am emboldened by the belief that it might be for the dear child's own good. She could have excellent lessons of any or every kind, and some amount of French talking, as I have a few old French friends in the neighbourhood, near enough to spend a day with now and then. Her father would bring her out, and, for my sake, I trust, not grudge the time and fatigue. The whole expenses you would surely let me defray? You cannot be hard-hearted enough to refuse this, dearest Eugenia.'

Mrs Mildmay thought it over and talked it over with her husband: then they laid it before Jacinth herself, giving her indeed the letter itself to read. Jacinth's face crimsoned with pleasure and excitement, and her eyes glistened. But in a moment or two they grew dewy.

'Oh, mamma,' she exclaimed, 'it would be delightful. But—I cannot bear to think of leaving you for so long.'

These were sweet and grateful words to the mother's ears. But, as ever, she took the cheerful and sensible view of the matter. The separation would be but a short one, and it might really be of great advantage to Jacinth. Besides which—and this argument, I think, had the most weight with them all—was it not a duty to do what they could to please their dear old friend?

So a favourable and grateful answer was sent without much delay, and before the new year was many days old, Jacinth and her father found themselves speeding across France as fast as the train de luxe could take them, to join Lady Myrtle in her winter home.

Jacinth enjoyed it all, and there was a considerable amount of freshness to her in the experience, though it was not entirely unknown ground. For, as a young child, she had spent some time in the south of France with her mother on her way to England, and she had once in later years passed a week or two in Paris with Uncle Marmy and 'Granny.' But the special place which Lady Myrtle had chosen was quite new to her, and it had its own peculiar beauties and attractions.

'Tell mamma,' she said to her father the morning before he was to leave, 'tell dear mamma and Francie that I am as happy as I can be anywhere away from them. And I will work really hard at French and music, so that I may be able to help Francie with hers. And it will please mamma, won't it, papa, to hear how glad Lady Myrtle seems to have me?'

'Yes, dear, I am sure it will,' said Colonel Mildmay cordially. 'I cannot help feeling, personally, great pleasure in having been able to do anything to gratify her. It was generous of her to give us the opportunity of doing so.'

'She is so generous,' said Jacinth warmly, 'so large hearted about everything, isn't she, papa?'

'She is indeed,' her father agreed with a little sigh, 'about everything except one thing. It is curious and sad to see how very deep down are her prepossessions on that subject. And I am the more hopeless about them, because there is really no personal vindictiveness, or even, I may say, prejudice mixed up with these convictions.'