‘A telegram!  Oh, Ursula!’ And Jill’s dimples disappeared like magic.

’My dear, Fraeulein would not have a moment’s sleep to-night if she did not know you were safe.  Do not be afraid, Jill:  we will spend our Christmas Day together, in spite of all the Fraeuleins in the world.’  And then I wrote off the telegram, and a short note, and gave them to Mr. Tudor.  The telegram was necessarily brief: 

‘Jocelyn safe with me.  Will not return until Thursday.  Write to explain.’

The note was more explanatory.

I apologised profusely to Fraeulein for her pupil’s naughtiness, but begged her to say nothing to her mother, as I would communicate myself with Aunt Philippa and let her know what had happened.  Under the circumstances I thought it better to keep Jocelyn with me over Christmas Day, until I heard from Aunt Philippa.  But she might depend on my bringing her back myself.

‘It is far too polite,’ growled Jill, who had been reading the letter over my shoulder.  ‘How can you cringe so to that creature?’

‘I consider it a masterpiece of diplomacy,’ observed Mr. Tudor, as I handed it for his inspection.  ’Civil words pay best in the long-run; and you know it was very naughty to run away, Miss Jocelyn.’

‘It was nothing of the kind,’ returned Jill rebelliously.  ’And I would do it again to-morrow.  I am more than sixteen; I am not a child now, and I have a right to come and see Ursula if I like.’  And Jill threw back her head, and the colour came into her face, and she looked so handsome that I was not surprised to see Mr. Tudor regard her attentively.  I never saw a face so capable of varying expression as Jill’s.

Jill declared she was glad when Mr. Tudor was gone.  But I think she liked him very well on the whole; and, indeed, no one could dislike such a bright, kind-hearted fellow.  As soon as he had left the house I had to call a council.  It was quite certain my bed would not hold Jill; so, at Mrs. Barton’s suggestion, some spare mattresses were dragged in my room and a bed made up on the floor.  Jill voted this delicious; nothing could have pleased her more, and she was so talkative and excited that I had the greatest trouble in coaxing her to be quiet and let me go to sleep:  in fact, I had to feign sleep to make her hold her tongue.

But I was much too restless to sleep, and once when I crept out of bed to replenish the fire I stood still for a moment to look at Jill.

She was sleeping as placidly as an infant in its cradle, her short black locks pushed back from her face, and one arm stretched on the coverlet.  I was surprised to see how fine Jill’s face really was.  The ugly duckling, as Uncle Brian called her, was fast changing into a swan.  At present she was too big and undeveloped for grace; her awkward manners and angularities made people think her rough and uncouth.  ’I expect she will eclipse Sara’s commonplace prettiness some day; but, poor child, no one understands her,’ I sighed, and as I tucked her up more warmly, with a kiss, Jill’s sleepy arms found their way to my neck and held me there.  ‘Is not it delicious, Ursie dear?’ she murmured drowsily.