This was on the afternoon of her last day at the Corfields.  She was to go home to-night in preparation for the arrival of her father and madame to-morrow, and in a few hours she would be away.  She did not want Alick to come back to the laboratory.  She was afraid that he would miss the bottle which she had secured so almost automatically if so superstitiously:  Alick must not come back.  She must keep that bottle.  She hurried across the old-time stick-house, locked the door and took the key with her, then met Alick coming back to finish his lesson on the crystallization of alum, and said, “I am tired of your colored doll’s jewelry.  Come and tell me about flowers,” leading the way to the garden.

Doubt and suspicion were qualities unknown to Alick Corfield.  It never occurred to him that his young queen was playing a part to hide the truth, befooling him for the better concealment of her misdeeds.  He was only too happy that she condescended to suggest how he should amuse her; so he went with her into the garden, where she sat on the rustic chair, and he brought her flowers and told her the names and the properties as if he had been a professor.

At last Leam sighed.  “It is very tiresome,” she said wearily.  “I should like to know as much as you do, but half of it is nonsense, and it makes my head ache to learn.  I wish I had my dolls here, and that you could make them talk as mamma used.  Mamma made them talk and go to sleep, but you are stupid:  you can speak only of flowers that don’t feel, and about your silly crystals that go to water if they are touched.  I like my zambomba and my dolls best.  They do not go to water; my zambomba makes a noise, and my dolls can be beaten when they are naughty.”

“But you see I am not a girl,” said Alick blushing.

“No,” said Leam, “you are only a boy.  What a pity!”

“I am sorry if you would like me better as a girl,” said Alick.

She looked at him superbly.  Then her face changed to something that was almost affection as she answered in a softer tone, “You would be better as a girl, of course, but you are good for a boy, and I like you the best of every one in England now.  If only you had been an Andalusian woman!” she sighed, as, in obedience to Mrs. Corfield’s signal, she got up to prepare for dinner, and then home for her father and madame to-morrow.

CHAPTER XX.

IN HER MOTHER’S PLACE.

Whatever madame’s past life had been—­and it had been such as a handsome woman without money or social status, fond of luxury and to whom work was abhorrent, with a clear will and very distinct knowledge of her own desires, clever and destitute of moral principle, finds made to her hand—­whatever ugly bits were hidden behind the veil of decent pretence which she had worn with such grace during her sojourn at North Aston, she did honestly mean to do righteously now.