The uncle-myth still held sway in Annabel's imagination; therefore it never occurred to her that any sort of chaperonage was needful as between myself and Fay. For this I was devoutly thankful. True, Frank was with us whenever he could elude Blathwayte's conscientious preparation of him for the University; but Arthur's rule, if kind, was firm, and consequently Fay and I spent long and blissful hours together with no one to intrude into our _solitude à deux_. It did not take me long to discover that though the twins were so much alike outwardly--not only in appearance, but also in voice and manner, and in tricks of thought and speech--the resemblance was merely a superficial one. Their bodies and their minds were cast in the same mould; but their hearts and their souls differed fundamentally. Frank was the elf throughout: his feelings were transient and wayward. But underneath his sister's fairylike appearance and demeanour, there was hidden the loving and faithful heart of a true woman. Frank was the cold-blooded merman untouched by mortal pain and sorrow; but Fay was the little sea-maid who had found a soul. It was the time of hay-harvest, when all the world is filled with fragrance, and every separate hayfield is a picture in itself. Fay and I were sitting under a hedge in one of the upper meadows, watching the old-world drama of haymaking being played in the valley below, in which drama Frank was assisting. "Isn't it all perfectly ideal?" Fay exclaimed. "I never in my life knew anything so exquisite as an English summer!" "I never in all my life knew anything so exquisite as this particular English summer," I replied. "I suppose it is unusually fine weather for the time of year," said Fay, with a sly smile. "It is not on the weather that this summer bases its claim to super-excellence," I explained. "Indeed: on the circumstances then, I suppose?" "No, on the company. I have arrived at the interesting conclusion that a summer minus you is not really a summer at all, only a sort of dress-rehearsal of the real performance." "I see," said Fay; "one swallow does not make a summer, but one Wildacre does." "One Fay Wildacre," I corrected her. "Frank alone would only be able to make a spring: plenty of promise but no fulfilment, and a cold wind at the back of the sunshine." Fay nodded her pretty curly head. "That's rather a neat description of Frankie. Now you mention it, he is like a brilliantly sunny day with a cold wind in the background ready to pop round the corner at any moment and shrivel you up. Although Frankie is so adorable when he likes, I don't think he has got what people call a warm heart; do you?" "I think he is very fond of you," I replied diplomatically.