We were just turning in, the little one and I, when we heard a horse snuffle outside, and nothing would satisfy her but she must up and peep out of the window, and she said, 'Why, there's Phil Carre standing on the knoll.

Mon Gyu, what does he want there at this time of day ?' And I said, 'Come away into bed, child, and don't catch your death of cold.
You're half asleep and dreaming.

There's no one out there.' 'Yes, there is,' said she, 'and it's Phil Carre.

I know his shape.' But I was sleepy, and I said, 'Well, he'll keep till morning anyway, and if you don't get some sleep you'll look like a boiled owl, and there'll be no riding for you, miss, Phil Carre or no Phil Carre.'" All of which was gall and wormwood to young Torode, as Jeanne Falla quite well knew and intended.
And presently Carette came down, looking like a half-opened rose after a stormy night, and with just as much energy in her as might be expected in a girl who had danced miles of quicksteps but a few hours before, and at a pace which Uncle Nico's arm had not forgotten yet.
There was to me something almost sacred in the look of her with the maiden sleep still in her eyes, which set her apart from us and above us, and I could have sat and looked at her for a long time, and required no more.
She was all in white again, and Aunt Jeanne, when she had given her coffee and a slice of gache, and had coaxed her to eat, slipped out into the garden, and came back presently with an apronful of red roses, all wet with dew, and proceeded to pin them round her hat, and on her shoulder, and at her breast, and in her waistband.
"V'la!" said the dear old soul, standing off and eyeing her handiwork with her head on one side, like a robin.

"There's not another in the Island will come within a mile of you, ma garche!" and it was easy to see the love that lay deep in the sharp old eyes.
We had hardly spoken a word since Carette came down, beyond wishing her good-day, and she herself seemed in no humour for talk.