He came back. "Right-ho!" he said, and folded his arms. The cows were filing past in the two directions. Mamie looked round from the side of Philip's legs. "They're nearly all gone!" he assured her. "I hate cows!" she vowed. He ventured a remark not strictly _à propos_. "And I hate moths! Of course, not to mention beetles!" "I don't like beetles--or moths!" she added speculatively. "But principally mice and cows. But then what would you expect from a sensintive girl like me?" His mind went floundering after the meaning of "sensintive." Oh, of course, she meant what people usually called "sensitive." What a quaint old-world sort of word it was on Mamie's lips! "Exactly! Exactly!" he agreed politely. "If I may say so, it isn't exactly _delincate_ to know which are bulls and which are cows. Only vulgar girls know _that_ sort of thing!" What a fascinating little trick she had of putting "n's" into unexpected places. _Delincate_! It gave the very word a delicacy of its own. "Oh, yes!" he said with conviction. "I'd best be getting up!" she remarked after a slight silence. "It was very _sweet_ of you to give me your protection. Thank you!" her lips shaped lusciously. "Thank you! So sweet of you! Quite chivalrous!" she completed, with a delightfully displaced accent. "Not at all, not at all!" murmured Philip. Really girls did make an awful fool of him! It was about time he said something a little more elaborate than "Exactly!" or "Not at all!" He had said more before a crowd of working men in ten seconds than he seemed capable of in ten hours in the presence of this quite extraordinary young lady. "You might," came her voice, a little waspishly, "help a lady to her feet when she gives you an invintation! That you might!" She was rising from the ditch. He bent over towards her, stung and foolish, and lifted her to her feet. The pout left her lips at once. "Oh, thank you so much!" she trilled. "Quite grown-up you are, somehow! How long are you staying in this dirty hole!" "As long as you are!" he said recklessly, in a spurt of shy gallantry. "Go hon, now!" she mocked, and flicked the tip of his nose with outstretched fingers. "That you aren't! I'll have to run away from you if you talk like that!" She broke into song--"Saucy and so young!" she quavered. Her voice sent little waves of pleasure coursing up and down his spine. "I'm older than you are, I'll bet!" he ventured maturely. "How old, Percival?" she asked, signifying her pleasure with a smile of arch gratitude. "About seventeen!" he lied. "Well, I'm only just a bit older, nearly eighteen!" she said glibly. Her hand patted and smoothed her hair. "Nearly eighteen!" she repeated, as if the sound of the words gave her real pleasure. "So we're sort of practically the same age!" suggested Philip. "_Are_ we now? Well, you are taller than me and only a month or so younger, so we'll call it _quits_, as we say on the stage!"