“Good little boy! Well, then, I will. Who are you?” “I am Compton. Who are you, please?” “I am Ruperta.” “I never heard that name before.” “No more did I. I think they measured me for it: you live in the great house there, don't you?” “Yes, Ruperta.” “Well, then, I live in the little house. It is not very little either. It's Highmore. I saw you in church one day; is that lady with the hair your mamma?” “Yes, Ruperta.” “She is beautiful.” “Isn't she?” “But mine is so good.” “Mine is very good, too, Ruperta. Wonderfully good.” “I like you, Compton--a little.” “I like you a good deal, Ruperta.” “La, do you? I wonder at that: you are like a cherub, and I am such a black thing.” “But that is why I like you. Reginald is darker than you, and oh, so beautiful!” “Hum!--he is a very bad boy.” “No, he is not.” “Don't tell stories, child; he is. I know all about him. A wicked, vulgar, bad boy.” “He is not,” cried Compton, almost sniveling; but he altered his mind, and fired up. “You are a naughty, story-telling girl, to say that.” “Bless _me!”_ said Ruperta, coloring high, and tossing her head haughtily. “I don't like you _now,_ Ruperta,” said Compton, with all the decent calmness of a settled conviction. “You don't!” screamed Ruperta. “Then go about your business directly, and don't never come here again! Scolding _me!_ How dare you?--oh! oh! oh!” and the little lady went off slowly, with her finger in her eye; and Master Compton looked rather rueful, as we all do when this charming sex has recourse to what may be called “liquid reasoning.” I have known the most solid reasons unable to resist it. However, “mens conscia recti,” and, above all, the cowslips, enabled Compton to resist, and he troubled his head no more about her that day. But he looked out for her the next day, and she did not come; and that rather disappointed him. The next day was wet, and he did not go into the meadow, being on honor not to do so. The fourth day was lovely, and he spent a long time in the meadow, in hopes: he saw her for a moment at the gate; but she speedily retired. He was disappointed. However, he collected a good store of cowslips, and then came home. As he passed the door out popped Ruperta from some secret ambush, and said, “Well?” CHAPTER XXXVIII. “WELL,” replied Compton. “Are you better, dear?” “I'm very well, thank you,” said the boy. “In your mind, I mean. You were cross last time, you know.” Compton remembered his mother's lessons about manly behavior, and said, in a jaunty way, “Well, I s'pose I was a little cross.” Now the other cunning little thing had come to apologize, if there was no other way to recover her admirer. But, on this confession, she said, “Oh, if you are sorry for it, I forgive you. You may come and talk.” Then Compton came and stood on the gate, and they held a long conversation; and, having quarreled last time, parted now with rather violent expressions of attachment.