Mr. Beresford was not at all loth to leave the close room which smelled so musty and damp, but which really seemed in a better state of preservation than other parts of the house. Everything had gone to decay, and but for Phil he would have been utterly discouraged, and abandoned all attempts to restore the place to anything like a habitable condition. Phil was all enthusiasm, and knew exactly what ought to be done, and in his zeal offered to see to nearly everything, provided his friend did not limit him as to means. This Mr. Beresford promised not to do. Money should be forthcoming even if a hundred workmen were employed, as Phil seemed to think there must be, the time was so short, and they would like to have things decent at least for Miss Reinette, of whom they talked and speculated as they rode back to town. Was she pretty, they wondered, and the decision was, that as all young girls have a certain amount of prettiness, she probably was not an exception; yes, she was pretty, unquestionably, and Frenchy, and spoiled, and a blonde, Phil said, for no one with a drop of Ferguson blood in his veins was ever anything but that, and the young man spoke impatiently, for he was thinking of his own lilies and roses, and fair hair which he affected to hate. “Of course she is _petite_,” Mr. Beresford said, but Phil did not agree with him. He was himself six feet; his mother was tall, his cousin Anna was tall. All the Fergusons were tall, and the young men bet a soft hat on the subject of Reinette’s height. They were getting very much interested in the young lady, nor was their interest at all diminished when, as they reached the village, they called at the post-office and found a letter from her, which, though sent by the same steamer with her father’s had not reached Merrivale until that evening. The handwriting was very small, but very plain and pretty; the letter was very short and ran as follows: “HOTEL MEURICE, PARIS, June ——. “MR. ARTHUR BERESFORD.—Dear Sir: I have just discovered that papa has told you among other things to have a _little_ saddle pony in readiness for me. Now I will not have a pony. I detest a little horse as much as I do a little woman, and I must have a great tall horse, who will carry me grandly and high. The biggest and grandest you can find. “Truly, REINETTE HETHERTON.” It almost seemed to the young men that they held the unknown Reinette by the hand, so near did this letter bring her to them, and such insight into her character did it give them. “She has a mind of her own and means to exercise it,” said Mr. Beresford, while Phil, intent upon the soft hat, said: “You will lose your bet, old fellow. Nobody but an Amazon would insist upon a great tall horse. It is just as I told you. She is five feet eleven at least. I want a _nice_ hat, and if you don’t object, I’ll pick it out myself, and send you the bill.”