And now, as they approached the more crowded thoroughfares, the instinct of chivalrous protection was keen in his breast.  He piloted her skillfully; he jauntily suited his own to her skipping step; he lifted her with scrupulous politeness over obstacles; strutting beside her on crowded pavements, he made way for her with his swinging stick.  All the while, too, he had taken note of the easy carriage of her head and shoulders, and most of all of her small, slim feet and hands, that, to his fastidious taste, betokened her race.  “Ged, sir,” he muttered to himself, “she’s ‘Blue Grass’ stock, all through.”  To admiration succeeded pride, with a slight touch of ownership.  When they went into a shop, which, thanks to the ingenuous Pansy, they did pretty often, he would introduce her with a wave of the hand and the remark, “I am—­er—­seeking nothing to-day, but if you will kindly—­er—­serve my ward—­Miss Stannard!” Later, when they went into the confectioner’s for refreshment, and Pansy frankly declared for “ice cream and cream cakes,” instead of the “dish of tea and bread and butter” he had ordered in pursuance of his promise, he heroically took it himself—­to satisfy his honor.  Indeed, I know of no more sublime figure than Colonel Starbottle—­rising superior to a long-withstood craving for a “cocktail,” morbidly conscious also of the ridiculousness of his appearance to any of his old associates who might see him—­drinking luke-warm tea and pecking feebly at his bread and butter at a small table, beside his little tyrant.

And this domination of the helpless continued on their way home.  Although Miss Pansy no longer talked of herself, she was equally voluble in inquiry as to the colonel’s habits, ways of life, friends and acquaintances, happily restricting her interrogations, in regard to those of her own sex, to “any little girls that he knew.”  Saved by this exonerating adjective, the colonel saw here a chance to indulge his postponed monitorial duty, as well as his vivid imagination.  He accordingly drew elaborate pictures of impossible children he had known—­creatures precise in language and dress, abstinent of play and confectionery, devoted to lessons and duties, and otherwise, in Pansy’s own words, “loathsome to the last degree!” As “daughters of oldest and most cherished friends,” they might perhaps have excited Pansy’s childish jealousy but for the singular fact that they had all long ago been rewarded by marriage with senators, judges, and generals—­also associates of the colonel.  This remoteness of presence somewhat marred their effect as an example, and the colonel was mortified, though not entirely displeased, to observe that their surprising virtues did not destroy Pansy’s voracity for sweets, the recklessness of her skipping, nor the freedom of her language.  The colonel was remorseful—­but happy.

When they reached the seminary again, Pansy retired with her various purchases, but reappeared after an interval with Miss Tish.