don't suppose he will," Henry returned comfortably. "Probably only too glad to know she's so well and happy here.'
"One never can tell what foreigners may think," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans impressively, "even when it is one's own brother-in-law."
Beyond kissing Zella half a dozen times on both cheeks when he arrived, Louis de Kervoyou gave no glaring evidences of his foreignness until the morning after his arrival at Boscombe.
He had regained more of his habitual joviality of manner than his sister-in-law thought particularly suitable in the space of two months, and she told her husband, in a depressed tone of voice, that it seemed very probable that poor Louis would soon want to marry again.
Zella, finding the father who had spoilt and petted her all her life apparently returned to his kindly, merry self, was too thankful at finding herself in the old lighthearted atmosphere again, to make any allusion to the bereavement which she had learned to connect with hushed tones and a tearful solemnity.
It was a slight shock to her when her father mentioned her mother's name in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner in the course of conversation that evening, and Aunt Marianne winced so perceptibly that she felt almost obliged to draw in her breath with a little quick sound suggestive of pain. After that Louis de Kervoyou did not speak of his wife again, though he came upstairs and talked to Zella for a long while after she was in bed that evening. But he was very kind and affectionate, and obviously delighted to have her with him again.
Next morning he looked at the evidences of her toil with Miss Vincent, when Mrs. Lloyd-Evans directed her to fetch her books from the schoolroom and show papa how nicely she was getting on; but he did not seem greatly impressed, and merely observed:
"Tu n'as pas perdu ton français, petite, hein?"
"Certainly not," said her aunt in English. "Miss Vincent knows French thoroughly, and the children always speak it at meals."
He made a little courteous gesture of acknowledgment towards the governess. "I am very grateful to Miss Vincent," he said, smiling at her.
"You see, Louis, Zella really is very backward with her English, though, of course, she speaks French very nicely," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, giving Miss Vincent a quiet look which the governess rightly interpreted to mean that a conversation must now take place between Zella's father and her aunt, at which Zella was not meant to assist.
The governess accordingly sent her pupil up to the schoolroom with a brisk "Now run and put away your books, dear, and get ready for a walk," and herself followed the reluctant Zella out of the room.
But Zella's reluctance was merely on the general principles of annoyance at being told to "run," and dislike of being sent out of the room like a small child. She knew quite well what her father was about to say to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans, and felt no desire to witness her Aunt Marianne's reception of his tidings.
It was not without some humorous apprehension on the part of Louis de Kervoyou himself that he began:
"It has been more than good of you to take such care of the child, Marianne, and I only wish I could thank you sufficiently; but I know how gladly you've done it," he added hastily, forestalling a reference, which he felt to be imminent, to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans's dear, dear only sister.
"But I think it's time I had her with me again, poor little thing! or she will feel I'm shirking my responsibilities," he ended with a rather melancholy smile.
"No one could possibly think that, Louis, if you leave her here, where she will always have a home and a mother's care—unless, indeed, you think she ought to be at school?"
"Certainly not. There has never been any question of her going to school. But, my dear Marianne, Villetswood is Zella's natural home, even though circumstances have altered."
"They have indeed," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans agitatedly; "and you surely cannot intend, Louis, to keep her alone in that great house, with no one but the servants. For although a father may be very devoted, a girl must have a mother, at Zella's age, or some good woman to take a mother's place."
"I do not think anyone can do that," said Louis gravely; " but Zella shall not lack care."
"Governesses are sometimes very artful, Louis, and you might find many unforeseen difficulties with them."
"No doubt," replied Louis dryly, rather inclined to laugh at the delicately veiled insinuation. "But for the moment I had not thought of getting a governess for Zella. It will be education enough, for the present, if I take her abroad with me."
All Mrs. Lloyd-Evans's most cherished prejudices settled round the fatal word "abroad," and she was silent from sincere dismay.
"I want a companion, and it will do Zella good," said Louis serenely. "Besides, it is time we went to visit my mother."
"Paris?" almost groaned his sister-in-law.
"No. She is in Rome for the winter, and is very anxious that Zella and I should join her there for a couple of months."
Rome, to Mrs. Lloyd-Evans's thinking, was merely one degree worse than Paris, in harbouring the Pope and a society mainly composed of intriguing and loose-living Cardinals. Nor did she belong to the class that is accustomed to travelling as a matter of course, and, as she afterwards said to Henry, it seemed to her nothing less than scandalous that an old woman of seventy, like the Baronne de Kervoyou, should be rushing all over the globe at her time of life.
Louis, who with his wife was accustomed to spending a week in Paris or a fortnight in Italy whenever the fancy seized them, only partially understood her dismay.
"We shall be back by the middle of February, I expect," he said kindly, "and Zella will enjoy seeing Italy."
"Christmas in Rome!"
He misunderstood her. "The New Year is more of a festival there, I fancy."
"No wonder, in a country without any religion but Romanism!"
"Oh," said Louis rather humorously, "if that is what you are thinking of, there is an English church all right, and Zella can attend it; though I admit I much prefer the Catholic ones myself. But my mother, as a matter of fact, will be exceedingly particular about all that."
"Louis," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans warmly, "you have a perfect right to do as you please with your own child."
Few words could have conveyed her unalterable disapproval more effectively.
But Mrs. Lloyd-Evans gave no sign of disapproving her brother-in-law's decision before his child, to Zella's intense relief. A shade of added gravity in Aunt Marianne's manner might merely be attributed to the responsibility, which she took upon herself as a matter of course, of superintending Zella's packing and purchasing one or two additions to her mourning.
"You see, dear," she gravely told her niece, "you will hardly be able to get anything very suitable out there. I know what foreign shops are."
"We shall be two nights in Paris," said Zella.
"A little girl cannot shop in a town like Paris," Mrs. Lloyd-Evans told her, thereby infuriating Zella, who since her father's arrival had ceased to regard herself as a little girl.
The term, so obnoxious to fourteen, was now felt by Zella to be only appropriate
