Hazel precipitately dismounted from her lofty stand, her sensitive little face growing pale with dismay at what she deemed her unmannerly way of dispensing with the formality of the usual prefix of "Mr.," which, however, Paul thoroughly understood: not as a rude peculiarity in the girl herself—little aristocrat that she was to her finger-tips—but as natural in the circumstance of that girl possessing five brothers. There was the bare possibility in Hazel’s mind that her words had not caught Paul’s ear, or, being audible to him, that the omission had not been remarked. With this faint hope to buoy her, she held out her hand to meet Paul’s over the fence, the while with flushed countenance she lifted her eyes, half shy, half anxious, and endeavoured to read the handsome face the merry eyes, that seemed laughingly to defy her scrutiny, whether consciously or unconsciously she could not determine. As a matter of fact Paul was perfectly aware of her embarrassment and its cause, and was much amused. He was bent upon keeping her in a state of uncertainty, however, and merely commented upon the beauty of the day, which mischievous spirit was hardly in accordance with the young man’s usual attitude towards her. With a demure response Hazel moved a little away, soon becoming interested in a cluster of flowers at her feet, Shepherd’s Eye, that seemed to gaze up at her in blue wonder and sympathy. She proceeded to pluck the small, starlike blossoms, her brothers and Paul meanwhile sitting upon or leaning against the mossgrown boundary fence, in several and varied poses of ease and comfort, engaging languidly in such broken and disjointed conversation as befitted the heat of the noonday. "What is the name of that little flower?" Paul’s voice broke in upon Hazel’s musing. He had followed her unawares, and made as if to take one tiny blue star from her bunch. But Hazel pressed upon him the whole miniature posy, in frank generosity. "Take them all," she said. "Are they not sweet? They are called Shepherd’s Eye—they grow mostly over there, in the meadow." "Shepherd’s Eye!" Paul said, gratefully accepting the gift. "But here are red ones, exactly like the blue." "I call them Sad Shepherd’s Eye," she returned. "They are eyes that must have been weeping bitterly for hours. I only care for the happy, blue ones." "They are prettiest, certainly," Paul rejoined; "but I should like one or two of the red ones, to remind me of your pretty fancy. Let me gather them; you will make yourself hot and tired." But Hazel disclaimed all fatigue, and was presently tying together some of the tiny red blossoms with a wisp of tough grass. "When are you two coming?" Gerald called. "I say, Charteris, come along home to lunch. The mater will be glad to see you." Paul looked at Hazel. "May I?" he asked diffidently. "Mrs. Le Mesurier may——." "Mother says that the house is always open to you," the girl replied in her gracious little way.