And he kept his word; for not once--while the epidemic in the South of France lasted--did he forget to forget to send the newspaper up to the Willows when there was anything in it calculated to alarm the most timid reader.
"Cousin Maria," said Elisabeth, a few days after this, "I hear that Coulson's circus is coming to Burlingham, and I want to go and see it." Miss Farringdon looked up over the tops of her gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Do you, my dear?
Well, I see no reason why you should not.

I have been brought up to disapprove of theatres, and I always shall disapprove of them; but I confess I have never seen any harm in going to a circus." It is always interesting to note where people draw the line between right and wrong in dealing with forms of amusement; and it is doubtful whether two separate lines are ever quite identical in their curves.
"Christopher could take me," Elisabeth continued; "and if he couldn't, I'm sure Alan would." "I should prefer you to go with Christopher, my dear; he is more thoughtful and dependable than Alan Tremaine.

I always feel perfectly happy about you when you have Christopher to take care of you." Elisabeth laughed her cousin to scorn.

She did not want anybody to take care of her, she thought; she was perfectly able to take care of herself.

But Miss Farringdon belonged to a time when single women of forty were supposed to require careful supervision; and Elisabeth was but four-and-twenty.
Christopher, when consulted, fell into the arrangement with alacrity; and it was arranged for him to take Elisabeth over to Burlingham on the one day that Coulson's circus was on exhibition there.