I was staying, as it happened, at one of our university towns, which I shall call Oxford, for short--not that that was _really_ its name. Walking one day with a niece, a scholar of Lady Betty's Hall, we chanced to meet in the High two rather remarkable persons. One of them was the very prettiest girl I ever saw in my life. Her noble frame marked her as the victor over Girton at lawn-tennis; while her _pince-nez_ indicated the student. She reminded me, in the grace of her movements, of the Artemis of the Louvre and the Psyche of Naples, while her thoughtful expression recalled the celebrated 'Reading Girl' of Donatello. Only a reading girl, indeed, could have been, as she was, Reader in English Literature on the Churton Collins Foundation. 'Who is she?' I said to my friend, the scholar of Lady Betty's; 'what a lovely creature she is!' 'Who, _that_?' she replied with some tartness. 'Well, what you can see in _her_, _I_ don't know. That's Leonora O'Dolite, and the lady with her is the Lady Superior of Lady Betty's. 'They call them Pretty and the Proctor,' my friend went on, 'as Mrs. Martin--Polly they call her too--has been Proctor twice.'[2] [2] I say, you know, keep clear of improbabilities! No one was ever old enough to have been Proctor _twice_.--PUBLISHER. That's all you know about it. Why, I shall bring in a character old enough to have been Proctor a thousand times.--ED. Now nobody could have called Polly bewitching. Her age must really have been quite thirty-five. I dislike dwelling on this topic, but she was short, dumpy, wore blue spectacles, a green umbrella, a red and black shawl, worsted mittens and uncompromising boots. She had also the ringlets and other attractions with which French Art adorns its ideal Englishwoman. At my request, I was introduced; but presently some thirty professors, six or seven senior dons, and a sprinkling of Heads of Houses in red and black sleeves came bounding out of University sermon, and gathered round the lovely Leonora. The master of St. Catherine's was accompanied by a hitherto Unattached student, who manifestly at once fell a victim to Leonora's charms. This youth was of peculiar aspect. He was a member of the nearly extinct Boshman tribe of Kokoatinaland. His long silky hair, originally black, had been blanched to a permanent and snowy white by failures in the attempt to matriculate at Balliol. He was short--not above four feet nine--and was tattooed all over his dark but intelligent features. When he was introduced I had my first opportunity of admiring Leonora's extraordinary knowledge of native customs and etiquette. 'Let me present to you,' said the Master of St. Catherine's, 'the Boshman chief, Ustâni!'