"Yes, just so—a—the grinders," hesitated Tom, wondering whether "molar" had been the right word to use. It had come to mind so pat for the occasion as to be irresistible; but his specimen-hunting hitherto had not included elephant's teeth, and Tom resolved to adopt a safe vagueness before Fulvia. "The grinders—just so," he repeated. "By-the-bye, you have some curious weapons here. This odd attempt at a sword—abortive, rather!—must belong to a—a—rather early date." "Pleistocene Period?" suggested Fulvia, playing with her brush. Daisy exploded anew, and was again called to order by Nigel. Tom tried to recall the exact position of the Pleistocene Period, and failed, not having read up his geology of late. "I—a—I should say—not far removed from the Stone Age," he said, pouncing on a happy thought. "Wouldn't it rather be the Tin Age?" asked Fulvia, with lifted eyebrows, not yet looking towards him. How like a girl! No lady of learning, evidently. Tom hastened to explain, greatly relieved. There had been a famous Stone Age, and a Bronze Age, and an Iron Age, but no Tin Age. He enlarged upon the fact geologically, if hazily, for Fulvia's information. "I suppose every country has had its Stone Age sooner or later," said Fulvia at length. "The Malay Stone Age must have been very recent, but not the British. Which weapon are you speaking of? That thing!—" as if she had not known it all the while—"Why, Nigel made it for a charade ten years ago—King Hal's sword of State, was it not? Hardly so antique as the British Stone Age, I'm afraid. The fact is, it was buried underground in the tool-house for an indefinite time, and was found again by accident, which gave it a history, and explains its ancient appearance. One certainly might take it for an antediluvian implement of war," she added indulgently. Tom was crestfallen. He did not so much mind making a mistake here or there; but he could not endure being found out in a mistake. "I suppose you are antiquarian as well as scientific," said Fulvia. "Ethel could give you some help as to antiquarian spots in the neighbourhood. She has more of a learning in that direction than towards science." Tom was happily started anew. He forgot his discomfiture, took another seat, and expatiated upon Ethel's good points. She was "a nice girl," he said—"a very nice sort of girl." Tom was too circumspect to call her "awfully nice," as Nigel would have done in his place; but he meant it plainly. "Really sensible, quite intelligent," continued Tom, with his superior air of approval. He enjoyed intercourse with a mind like hers; young, fresh, capable of assimilating others' knowledge, worth expending trouble upon. Tom spoke with an air of cousinly proprietorship, which might or might not be more than cousinly. When at last the caller departed, Daisy burst out—"I can't bear that man! He isn't half good enough for Ethel!" "Daisy, I want you for a walk," interposed Nigel.