He pulled himself round in his chair and got upon his feet, still grinning, and then they saw that he was just what girls accustomed to tall men would call short, or what girls accustomed to short men would call medium-sized. He had very short hair of an indefinite shade of brown, and his mouth, when he grinned, was well proportioned, if it was designed to make a gap touching the lobe of each ear. He stood up before them and shook himself out, as it seemed, after the manner of a newly awakened dog. Then he took in a reef or two (also speaking figuratively) of his mouth, and it became quite ordinary. He bowed as awkwardly as most men do in ordinary circumstances, and this fact was pleasing to the girls; no girl who is worth anything tolerates a man who makes a graceful bow. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said. “That is--for me; it can’t be the same for you--that is, of course it’s unexpected, but little enough of the pleasure. Only if I had known--you didn’t say you were coming, you know--maybe you are in the habit of coming every day.” The girls shook their heads; both glanced toward the window. He followed their example. “Gloriana!” he said, “it has been raining after all.” “Yes,” said Priscilla. “It has been a thunderstorm--a terrible thunderstorm!” “You don’t say so! Long ago?” “Half an hour ago. You must have heard it--the hail was terrific!” continued Priscilla. “Gloriana! I’m afraid I’ve given myself away. If I said I wasn’t asleep I suppose you wouldn’t believe me.” He looked from one to the other as if to guess whether of the twain was the more charitable or the more likely to make a fool of herself by telling a lie that would take in no one. He could not make up his mind on either point; and so he illuminated the silence by another grin. The girls looked at each other; they could hardly be blamed; and they certainly were not blamed by him. He became quite serious in a moment, and his mouth seemed actually normal. “I think that I’m rather lucky, do you know, in awaking to find such visitors--my first visitors--the first people to give me a welcome in my house. Before I have slept a single night under its roof--only for a matter of half an hour, and that in the day--I have two visitors. I hope that you will let me bid you welcome and that you will welcome me. May we exchange cards? My name is Wingfield--Jack Wingfield. I am the grandson, you know. You didn’t take me for the grandfather, did you?” CHAPTER V WE never heard that you were coming--not a word,” said Rosa. “Not a word,” echoed Priscilla. “We have enjoyed permission from Mr. Dunning to walk in the park and to pluck the wild flowers and blackberries and things like that. That was why we came to-day.” “Let me see; isn’t it a bit too early for blackberries?” said he. “Yes; but not for primroses,” said Rosa. “Nor for lunch,” said he. “Did I dream that I heard one of you--if not both--say that this house should be called Starvation Hall?”