Is it not so?"
"It is so, God and the saints be praised!" said Mademoiselle, huskily.
Grace Cardew followed them up the staircase. Her French was
negligible, and she felt again, as in days gone by, shut from the
little world of two which held her daughter and governess. Old
Anthony's doing, that. He had never forgiven his son his plebeian
marriage, and an early conversation returned to her. It was on Lily's
first birthday and he had made one of his rare visits to the nursery.
He had brought with him a pearl in a velvet case.
"All our women have their own pearls," he had said. "She will have
her grandmother's also when she marries. I shall give her one the
first year, two the second, and so on." He had stood looking down at
the child critically. "She's a Cardew," he said at last. "Which
means that she will be obstinate and self-willed." He had paused
there, but Grace had not refuted the statement. He had grinned.
"As you know," he added. "Is she talking yet?"
"A word or two," Grace had said, with no more warmth in her tone
than was in his.
"Very well. Get her a French governess. She ought to speak French
before she does English.
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