"Minx!" he thought. "You are not at all like your uncle, are you?" she began, after a moment of this pregnant silence. Then after another moment she added absently, "he has such pleasant, easy manners!" Antony settled his fleckless straw hat firmly upon his head and tightened his grip on his stick. "My uncle," he began with great control, "is an estimable man. His intentions are of the best--that is to say, I have always believed them to be--but like too many others he does not always carry out his intentions. Take, for instance, this present situation. It was evidently his intention to give you (and me) a pleasurable day. It is quite obvious to me, at least, that he has failed in his intention--to a certain extent," he added politely, for he had by now talked himself into his usual superior calm. His eyes were fixed upon the tip of the young lady's parasol, some distance below him, as she sat on the brick steps of the old porch before which he stood, her slender figure leaning against a white pillar. "Now, I have a suggestion to make," he continued, quite pleasantly by this time. "I can plainly see that my uncle's somewhat Philistine scheme for my showing you about the place is likely to bore you extremely. Let us, then, omit that part of the programme altogether. We must try to think of something that will attract you, however," Antony had by this time a fairly paternal interest in the young lady, "and if you will help me out, no doubt we can. Perhaps," he concluded tentatively, "you would really prefer to remain by yourself, and not be entertained at all?" He paused, and as no reply appeared to be forthcoming, slowly lowered his eyes along the fluffy parasol till they reached the level of those deep-set violet ones. He could not have recognised them by their colour, however, for they were closed; the gentle rise and fall of the young lady's breast, the placid and uncharacteristic kindness of her half-smile made the reason for this closing only too obvious. She was sleeping. Antony swallowed hard. Sheer rage choked him and his collar became intolerably tight. His fingers itched along the supple stick he carried and a longing to employ it in an absolutely unheard of manner nearly flooded him off his feet. "Where it would do the most good"--the obnoxious phrase flashed luminously across his mind. The sudden silence had its natural effect upon the young person on the brick steps. Slowly, inquiringly, her eyelids lifted, and the peculiar, rain-washed effect of those dark blue eyes, so startling above her olive cheeks, was not lost upon Antony. "Not entertained at all?" she repeated vaguely, diving under the ruffles of the parasol to cover the positively unconcealable paroxysm of the third yawn, "oh, on the contrary! Really. I am delightfully entertained, Mr.--Mr. Tony!" "So it appears," he returned acidly. A soft dark colour suffused her gipsy cheeks, but she brazened it out. She seemed to possess no sense of shame whatever.