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The meal came to an end, the savory was disposed of, coffee appeared and vanished, and presently Mrs. Mitford and her daughter were alone.

"Now, mumsy," said Christian, "come and sit on this deep sofa and let me cuddle up to you. Let me think that I am a very little girl once more; I want you to pet me and stroke my face. I want to put my head on your shoulder. You don't mind, do you, darling?"

"Oh, Christian!" said Mrs. Mitford, the tears rushing to her eyes, "I only wish you were a little, little girl. Big girls don't suit me half as well. I used to pet you such a lot, and you were so pretty. Don't you remember the time when I took you out driving in your dark-blue velvet pelisse and your blue hat? Don't you remember how the people used to remark on my very pretty little girl?"

"Yes, mumsy," said Christian; "but you can imagine I am your very pretty little girl again, can't you, mumsy?"

Mrs. Mitford said she could; but she was small and Christian was big, and the weight of the child's head on her shoulder tired her. Presently she sat up restlessly and said: