She stood looking up at him as she spoke. She had an arch, beautiful face--the sort of face which would look well with patches and powder. Only it would have been a sin to powder the hair, which, though deep brown, had rich touches of gold, as if a happy sunbeam were imprisoned in its waves. Her eyes were dark, her lips were softly red: everything about Sissy Langton's face was delicate and fine. She lifted her hand to reach a spray of jasmine just above her head, and the lace sleeve above fell back from her pretty, slender wrist: "Give it to me. Percival! do you hear? Oh, what a tease you are!" For he drew it back when she would have gathered it. Mrs. Middleton was heard making a remark inside. "You don't deserve it," said Percival. "Here is my aunt saying that the hot weather makes you scandalously idle." "Scandalously idle! Aunt Harriet!" Sissy repeated it in incredulous amusement, and the old lady's indignant disclaimer was heard: "Percival! Most unusually idle, I said." "Oh! most unusually idle? I beg your pardon. But doesn't that imply a considerable amount of idleness to be got through by one person?" "Yes, but you helped me," said Sissy.--"Aunt Harriet, listen. He stood on my thimble ever so long while he was talking this afternoon. How can I work without a thimble?" "Impossible!" said Percival. "And I don't think I can get you another to-morrow: I am going out. On Thursday I shall come back and bring you one that won't fit. Friday you must go with me to change it. Yes, we shall manage three days' holiday very nicely." "Nonsense! But it _is_ your fault if I am idle." "Why, yes. Having no thimble, you are naturally unable to finish your book, for instance." "Oh, I sha'n't finish that: I don't like it. The heroine is so dreadfully strong-minded I don't believe in her. She never does anything wrong; and though she suffers tortures--absolute agony, you know--she always rises to the occasion--nasty thing!" "A wonderful woman," said Percival, idly picking sprays of jasmine as he spoke. Sissy's voice sank lower: "Do you think there are really any women like that?" "Oh yes, I suppose so." She took the flowers which he held out, and looked doubtfully into his face: "But--do you _like_ them, Percival?" "Make the question a little clearer," he said. "I don't like your ranting, pushing, unwomanly women who can talk of nothing but their rights. They are very terrible. But heroic women--" He stopped short. The pause was more eloquent than speech. "Ah!" said Sissy, "Well--a woman like Jael? or Judith?" He repeated the name "Judith." "Or Charlotte Corday?" he suggested after a moment.