"How could I leave you all by yourself," said the young man, with tender sympathy, "and you suffering from a headache?" Then she professed to be vexed and impatient. "Oh, do go away to church!" she said. "You can be in plenty of time, if you walk fast enough. If you stop here you know what will go on at lunch. Those Drexel girls can look more mischief than any other twenty girls could say or do." "Oh, no," said he, plaintively, "don’t send me away! Let us go for a walk rather. You know, a woman’s headache is like her hat—she can put it on or off when she likes. Come!" "I consider you are very impertinent," said she, with something of offended dignity. "Do you think I shammed a headache in order to stay behind?" "I don’t think anything," said he, discreetly. "You will be saying next that it was to have this meeting with you?" "Why, who could dare to imagine such a thing!" "Oh, very well, very well," said she, with a sudden change to good-nature, as she rose from the chair. "I forgive you. And I will be with you in a second." She was hardly gone a couple of minutes; but in that brief space of time she had managed to make herself sufficiently picturesque; for to the simple and neat grey costume which clad her tall and slim and elegant figure she had added a bold-sweeping hat of black velvet and black feathers, while round her neck she had wound a black boa, its two long tails depending in front. Thus there was no colour about her, save what shone in her perfect complexion, and in the light and expression of her shrewd, and dangerous, and yet grave and demure blue eyes.