“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

“Jerry.”

“That’s a nice name.  I think it’s like you.”

“How—­like me?”

“Oh, I don’t know—­boyish and rather jolly, in spite of being Jeremiah.  It is Jeremiah, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“I was sure of it.  It was Jeremiah who wanted to throw me over the wall, but it was Jerry who didn’t.  Which are you really?  If you’re Jerry I’m not afraid of you in the least.  But if you’re Jeremiah, I must go at once.”

He smiled at her.

“Oh, that’s all right.  You needn’t hurry.  I wouldn’t hurt you.  You seem to be a very sprightly sort of a creature.  You laugh as though you really meant it.  What’s your name?  I’ve told you mine.”

“Una.”

“H-m.  That means ’first’.”

“But not the last.  There are five others—­all girls.”

“Girls!  What a pity!”

She must have glanced around at him quickly, with that bird-like pertness I discovered later.  He was declaring war, himself defenseless, and was not even aware of it.

“You’re not flattering.  A pity!  Why?”

“It’s too bad if you had to be born why some of you couldn’t have been boys.  You’d have been a fine sort of a boy, I think.”

“Would I really?” she said.  “A better sort of a boy than I am a girl?”

He shrugged his shoulders, oblivious of the bait for flattery.

“How should I know what sort of a girl you are?  You seem sensible enough and you’re not easily frightened.  You know, I—­I rather like you.”

“Really!”

He missed the smile and note of antagonism and went on quickly: 

“You’re fond of the woods, aren’t you?  Do you know the birds?  They like this place.  And butterflies—­I’d like to show you my collection.”

“Oh, you collect?”

“Of course—­specimens of all kinds.  Birds, eggs, nests, lepidoptera—­I’ve got a museum down at the Manor.  Next year you’ll have to come and see it.”

“Next year!”

“Yes.  You see—­” Jerry’s pause must have been that of embarrassment.  I think he realized that he had been going it rather rapidly.  I didn’t hear this part of the dialogue until our third conversation.  “Well, you see, I’m not supposed to see any—­any females until I’m twenty-one.  Not that I’ve ever wanted to, you know, but it seems rather foolish that I can’t ask you down, if you’d like to come.”

Can you visualize a very modern young woman during this ingenuous revelation?  Jerry said that close, cool inspection of her slate-blue eyes (he had, you see, also identified their color) rather disconcerted him.

“I’m sure I should be delighted to come,” she said with a gravity which to anyone but Jerry would have made her an object of suspicion.

Jerry shook his head.

“But I—­I’m afraid it wouldn’t do.  I’ve never given my word, but it’s an understanding—­”