girl, a sallow, deep-eyed child of nine. She put by her business when Crayven was presented, and made an effort to be social; but it was plainly an effort, Teresa saw that she was tired, and her mind preoccupied by the flood of grievances about the shops, and the behaviour of the French governess, and the fact that Ernesto would not come to Paris but had written from Monte Carlo for more money—which she had already poured out at luncheon. Ernestine, the little girl, sat silent while the tea was brought, devouring cakes and studying with her uncannily old eyes the persons of Crayven and Teresa. She was given a large cup of tea, and then began to ask her mother something, in rapid Italian.
"Speak English, child, I've told you," said Nina sharply.
"Oh, I thought," said Ernestine, slowly and distinctly, for her English was somewhat difficult, "that you said that Aunt Teresa said that she had no friends in Paris."
Teresa laughed.
"One finds friends unexpectedly sometimes," she said. "Everyone comes to Paris, you know, Ernestine."
"Oh," said Ernestine. She added, before her elders could fill the breach: "I wonder why my father doesn't come? He never will come when we're here. I wish he'd come, for he promised to take"
