“That was nobly done,” said she, with enthusiasm; and though Conyers went on, with warmth, to tell more of his father's generous nature, she seemed less to listen than to follow out some thread of her own reflections. Was it some speculation as to the temperament the son of such a father might possess? or was it some pleasurable revery regarding one who might do any extravagance and yet be forgiven? My reader may guess this, perhaps,--I cannot. Whatever her speculation, it lent a very charming expression to her features,--that air of gentle, tranquil happiness we like to believe the lot of guileless, simple natures. Conyers, like many young men of his order, was very fond of talking of himself, of his ways, his habits, and his temper, and she listened to him very prettily,--so prettily, indeed, that when Darby, slyly peeping in at the half-opened door, announced that the boat had come, he felt well inclined to pitch the messenger into the stream. “I must go and say good-bye to Miss Barrington,” said Polly, rising. “I hope that this rustling finery will impart some dignity to my demeanor.” And drawing wide the massive folds, she made a very deep courtesy, throwing back her head haughtily as she resumed her height in admirable imitation of a bygone school of manners. [Illustration: 166] “Very well,--very well, indeed! Quite as like what it is meant for as is Miss Polly Dill for the station she counterfeits!” said Miss Dinah, as, throwing wide the door, she stood before them. “I am overwhelmed by your flattery, madam,” said Polly, who, though very red, lost none of her self-possession; “but I feel that, like the traveller who tried on Charlemagne's armor, I am far more equal to combat in my every-day clothes.” [Illustration: 166] “Do not enter the lists with me in either,” said Miss Dinah, with a look of the haughtiest insolence. “Mr. Conyers, will you let me show you my flower-garden?” “Delighted! But I will first see Miss Dill to her boat.” “As you please, sir,” said the old lady; and she withdrew with a proud toss of her head that was very unmistakable in its import. “What a severe correction that was!” said Polly, half gayly, as she went along, leaning on his arm. “And _you_ know that, whatever my offending, there was no mimicry in it. I was simply thinking of some great-grandmother who had, perhaps, captivated the heroes of Dettingen; and, talking of heroes, how courageous of you to come to my rescue!” Was it that her arm only trembled slightly, or did it really press gently on his own as she said this? Certainly Conyers inclined to the latter hypothesis, for he drew her more closely to his side, and said, “Of course I stood by you. She was all in the wrong, and I mean to tell her so.” “Not if you would serve me,” said she, eagerly. “I have paid the penalty, and I strongly object to be sentenced again. Oh, here's the boat!”