‘How much did you have to face?’ asked the gentleman taking another roll.

’Ten people and two catechisms.  And if Madame Lasalle says true—­Have you a sketching club here? and is she its president?’

’We have no such club—­and it has no such president—­and whether Madame Lasalle says true is a matter entirely unknown to me.  Do you say you are going fishing to-day, Miss Kennedy?’

’Mr. Falkirk told Madame Lasalle I might.  And she is to “tell me everything,”—­fill up her sketches, I suppose; so the sport may be extensive.  Yesterday her pencil marks were delightfully indistinct, and made the most charming confusion between cats and dogs and canary birds.  Miss Maryland was a preacher, her father the personification of imprudence, and you—­’

She had run on in a sort of gleeful play, not at all guessing what the pencil marks really meant, and stopped short now only for fear her play might chafe.

‘What was I?’ said Rollo, with a quietness that was evidently careless.

‘You,’ said Wych Hazel impressively, ’were (in a general way) a Norwegian, a Dane,—­making your way everywhere and laying waste the country.’

Something in Mr. Falkirk’s face as she finished these words made her instinct take alarm.  The colour mounted suddenly.

‘O, please do not speak to me again—­anybody!’ she said, looking down.  ’I was all alone yesterday afternoon, and had to descend into the depths of Morton Hollow—­and I believe I am a little wild at getting back.  And Mr. Morton, sir—­O, you have not asked what he said to me!’ She checked her self again, too late!  Whatever should she do with her tongue to keep it still.  The Camille de Rohan at her belt was hardly deeper dyed than she.

‘What about Mr. Morton?’ said Rollo.  ’Forgive somebody for speaking—­but it was impossible to ask without!’

‘O—­nothing—­only a compliment for Mr. Falkirk,’ said the girl, trying to rally.  ’And Mr. Falkirk had said—­And I have lived so long alone with Mr. Falkirk that I have got into a very bad habit of forgetting that anybody else can be present!’

It did not exactly help on the progress of self-control, that at this point Dingee came in, bearing in both hands a lovely basket of hot-house grapes and nectarines, themselves specimens of perfection, with a long wreathing stem of wonderful white orchids laid across its other treasures.  Dingee evidently enjoyed his share in the business, for his white teeth were in a glitter.

‘Mass’ Morton, Miss Hazel.  He done send ’em to my young mistiss, wid his greatest ’spects.  He say he done percolate de Hollow and couldn’t find nuffin more gorgeous, or he’s send him.’

‘Dingee!’ said his young mistress, flashing round upon him, ’do you venture to bring me a made-up message?  Take the basket to Mr. Falkirk!’

But she shrank back then, as they saw, with extreme shyness.  The little fingers trembled, trying to busy themselves among spoons and cups; and one pitiful glance towards Mr. Falkirk besought him to take the affair into his own hands, and send whatever return message might be needful.  O to be a child, and put her head down under the table!  And instead of that she must keep her place—­and she did, with the most ladylike quietness.  Mr. Falkirk had reason to be content with her for once.