An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her eyes, seemed to ease the mind of the person of the house; for she added with recovered composure, “No, no, no. No children for me. Give me grownups.”

It was difficult to guess the age of this strange creature, for her poor figure furnished no clue to it, and her face was at once so young and so old. Twelve, or at the most thirteen, might be near the mark.

“I always did like grownups,” she went on, “and always kept company with them. So sensible. Sit so quiet. Don’t go prancing and capering about! And I mean always to keep among none but grownups till I marry. I suppose I must make up my mind to marry, one of these days.”

She listened to a step outside that caught her ear, and there was a soft knock at the door. Pulling at a handle within her reach, she said, with a pleased laugh: “Now here, for instance, is a grownup that’s my particular friend!” and Lizzie Hexam in a black dress entered the room.

“Charley! You!”